


Somewhere In Between

by amazingpages



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Banter, Declarations Of Love, Epistolary, Feelings, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, Humor, Long Distance Relationship, M/M, Pen Pals, Photographer Derek, Pining, Slow Build, Texting, World Travel, brief angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 05:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1766734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amazingpages/pseuds/amazingpages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek’s been letting his job dictate his life ever since he was promoted from freelance photographer to official travel photographer. In his five years of travel, he’s built relationships in countries all across the globe, yet he still returns home after each job as lonely as ever. When he decides to try out the pen pal site Laura recommends to him, he doesn't know what to expect. Derek isn't prepared for Stiles, a small town guy with big dreams of seeing the world. And he certainly isn't prepared to fall in love with him. He has to remind himself that this is just a pen pal thing and not to get carried away. It's not like Stiles could ever like him back.</p><p>Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere In Between

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miszxbrii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miszxbrii/gifts).



> This work is affectionately referred to as my "pen pal sterek fic"—I started it as a response to a tumblr prompt _months_ ago and then I couldn't let it go. A huge thanks to Brii for the original idea; without it this wouldn't even exist! Thanks also to Carrie and Cas, who kept encouraging me to write and were constant sources of support and new ideas. And to my tumblr followers, who were incredibly patient and kept cheering me on. You guys are all awesome!  <3

**_Stiles - California, USA_ **

The name makes Derek pause. He’s been scanning this pen pal website for almost an hour, but nobody has really caught his eye until now. It’s strange looking at people’s lives through the lens of their words alone when he is so used to viewing his world through the eye of his camera. The site doesn’t even allow profile pictures, to keep the process a little more neutral. But the whole point of this, as his sister Laura had told him, is to connect with someone on a deeper level. _You can’t keep hiding behind your photographs_ , she’d said, _and if a picture is really worth a thousand words then why not try writing some of them down?_

She has a point.

Derek’s been letting his job dictate his life ever since he was promoted from freelance photographer to official travel photographer. It’s a rewarding occupation, and he has the benefit of multiple clients who seek him out, but every paycheck comes with its own demands. Unfortunately, frequent travel is one of them. He wouldn’t trade his job for the world, but connections with the locals can only go so far. In his five years of travel, he’s built relationships in countries all across the globe, yet he still returns home after each job as lonely as ever.

Derek clicks on Stiles’ name to view his profile.

It’s a little bare compared to some of the others Derek has seen, but the basics are there. Stiles is a senior in college, lives in a small town, enjoys all things Batman, and can’t play lacrosse to save his life. He seems like a simple, down-to-earth guy, unlike many of the others who have catchy things on their profiles to try and impress strangers. The last line on his profile is a response to one of the sponsored questions on the site.

 **What’s your deepest desire?  
** I’d love to see the world someday.

 _Well_ , Derek thinks, _I’ve already done that_. Before he can talk himself out of it, Derek clicks on the little envelope next to Stiles’ name and is provided an address. He quickly copies it down onto a post-it and inserts his own address into the little message box that pops up on his screen prompting him to _Get started with your pen pal today!_

Here goes nothing.

It’s strange at first. He can’t think of anything interesting to say, so he stares at a blank piece of paper for a long while. Then he realizes that this _Stiles_ is basically a stranger, and it’s not like he needs to woo him with words or anything. So Derek starts with the basics.

_Hello, Stiles._

Good, solid introduction. Not too overbearing, right? He doesn’t want to seem like he’s anxious to make a friend, even though that’s pretty much what this whole endeavor boils down to.

_I’m Derek._

***

When Stiles’ dad first drops an envelope onto the pages of the zoology textbook he’s reading, he’s pretty unamused. His exam is in less than twelve hours, and he is not interested in more junk mail like the one from last week inviting him to join the _Miss California Pageant_ —his dad had gotten a kick out of that. But one glance at the return address shows that it’s handwritten and a name he doesn’t recognize.

Interest piqued, Stiles slips his finger under the seal and tears it open carelessly, pulling out a single sheet of loose leaf paper. He scans the contents, surprise coloring his features as he reads.

_I found your profile on the pen pal website, and I could use someone to talk to._

Stiles had signed up for the program about a month ago in a fit of melancholy. The few friends he has around Beacon Hills had gone back off to their universities for yet another semester, and Stiles was still living at home, doing his same old routine as an intern at the police station while taking classes at the local college. But he hadn’t followed through with the pen pal thing and had completely forgotten about it until now. Focusing back on the letter, he reads it again, this time with more consideration.

_I’ve never really done this kind of thing before. Do I tell you about myself? I’m 26, I work as a travel photographer, I like watching sunsets (cheesy, I know, but they look different everywhere I go)._

_There’s not much else to tell. I read on your profile that you like Batman. Who is your favorite?_

The letter ends rather abruptly after that, and Stiles almost laughs at how awkward it is. But he has to admit he’s intrigued. Derek’s handwriting is crisp and neat, slanted letters forming a stoic line across the page. There’s not much about the man himself, but he’s obviously trying. And it’s not like Stiles has anything to lose by writing back. There’s certainly nothing more exciting in Beacon Hills to occupy his time. And what good college student won’t use any excuse to put off studying?

Stiles rips a sheet of paper out of his spiral notebook and picks up the pen he’s been gnawing on in his attempts to memorize the different animal classifications.

_Hey, Derek!_

_I’m Stiles (but you already know that). Sorry in advance if you can’t read half of this – I’ve had like four cups of coffee tonight and my handwriting is terrible on a good day._

He wonders if he should do a little introduction like Derek had, but decides against it. It reminds him too much of his childhood trolling days, when chat rooms consisted of a bunch of emo preteens asking everyone their A/S/L. Besides, Derek’s apparently read his profile already. He might as well just jump right into the important stuff.

_I don’t know if you really want to get me started on Batman. Once you open that box it cannot be shut. You think you’re up for that?_

_But, dude, travel photographer? You can’t just gloss over something like that! So, what, you get paid to go places and take some money shots? That’s pretty legit. I mean, I’m sure it’s a lot harder than that, but still. I’ve never been anywhere but my small town, except for that one time my dad took me to the Sacramento Zoo (I had a thing for wolves when I was a kid)._

Stiles realizes he’s rambling, but it’s hard to stay on track when there’s nobody there to respond right away. It’s like having a one-sided conversation; without someone to cut him off, he could write until his hand cramps up. But he might as well show Derek what he’s getting into with this. Stiles has never been a fan of brevity anyway.

_What places have you been to? Is it weird when people speak a different language? How do sunsets look on the other side of the world? Do any of your photos get published?_

Stiles spends another half a page asking Derek a ton of questions, before his hand starts to hurt and he figures he should quit while he’s ahead. There’s no way Derek will answer all of them, so it’s probably a good idea to stop. Besides, he really does need to study for this zoology exam. He has to get at least an eighty-five on it to keep an A in the class.

Setting the letter aside to mail later, Stiles reluctantly turns back to his textbook, the mysterious Derek plaguing his thoughts for the rest of the night.

***

He’s totally wrong.

Derek _does_ answer all of his questions, all thirty-two of them. He knows how many there are because the first two pages of Derek’s next letter consist of neatly numbered questions with his responses to each one. Stiles’ first thought is that this guy must have _no_ social life, if he’s spending his time writing four-page letters to a scrawny college student he’s never even met. Then he realizes how hypocritical that is—especially considering his own _lack_ of a social life—and decides to just read the letter instead of over-analyzing it.

_7\. What do you actually do when you’re not traveling?  
_ _I stay in New York with my sister. I travel too often to bother buying a place, so she lets me use her guest room when I’m in the states. I’m not involved in much though, my photography is a big part of my life._

That sounds so sad to Stiles. Sure, he really only has his dad to come home to, but it’s still his _home_. He can’t imagine staying in a guest room in someone else’s house (even if it _is_ his sister), with no place to call his own. No wonder this guy is lonely.

_12\. Best food you’ve ever had?  
_ _I was going to say massaman curry, because I love Thai food. But really, there’s no replacement for a true neapolitan pizza made in the heart of Italy. It’s like heaven in your mouth._

Stiles’ mouth waters just thinking about it, and he makes a mental note to order pizza later on this week. His dad definitely won’t complain about the divergence from their typically healthy dinners.

_15\. When did you first get into photography?  
_ _I used to have a hard time socializing (I still kind of do), but when I was ten my mom got me a camera and told me to take pictures of things I’d like to talk about. It started out as a way to express myself, but it’s kind of grown into my own way of showing everyone the natural beauty that surrounds us. I like capturing the moments of life that everyone else just passes by._

_19\. If you could visit anywhere in the world, where would you go?  
_ _My parent’s home, where I grew up._

_22\. You’re not actually some 60yo creep, right?  
_ _I probably wouldn’t tell you if I were. But I still have all my hair, if that makes you feel any better. I promise not to talk about the good ol’ days too much._

Stiles smiles and reads on, but Derek’s responses are funny, and the guy is a lot more interesting than he gives himself credit for. By the end of the letter, Stiles’ dad is sending him confused looks from his recliner because Stiles keeps giggling to himself.

_32\. Autobots or Decepticons?  
_ _Decepticons. I like a little rebellion now and then._

Stiles likes that. In fact, he likes _Derek_. He’s hardly begun exchanging letters with him, but the man is already more interesting than anyone else in his life. Part of it, Stiles can admit, is because Derek seems almost unreal. What could possibly be bad about a guy who travels for a living and has a sense of humor? It’s both intriguing and relaxing, and Stiles finds himself scrambling up to his room to write out another letter in reply. Derek had asked some questions of his own this time, and Stiles is more than willing to answer. Once he’s done, he grabs the envelope to copy Derek’s address off of, but something falls out of it.

Leaning down to pick it up, Stiles realizes it’s a photograph of a sunset. An _incredible_ sunset. He’s never seen anything like it. The colors—and who knew the sky could be _purple_?—are almost ethereal and reflect off of the clouds in a mesmerizing way. The way the light from the sun shines up from the horizon to blend with the oncoming shades of night create a beautiful show of colors and light. Stiles flips the picture over and sees Derek’s handwriting inked on the back:

_3\. How do sunsets look on the other side of the world?  
Breathtaking._

***

Derek has never been so impatient with the postal service in his entire life. He feels like a child getting a present when he finds another letter from Stiles in the mail, and doesn’t bother trying to hide his impatience with the slow elevator in Laura’s apartment building as it slowly creeps up the floors. When it reaches his level, he rushes to unlock the front door, dropping the rest of the mail onto the kitchen table as he heads to his room. He’s almost expecting another onslaught of questions in this letter, but as he lays back on his bed to read, he realizes that’s not the case.

_Dude, I can’t believe you wrote out all my questions. I applaud your dedication. Maybe you should’ve waited though; now that you’ve spoiled me, I’m going to be tempted to ask you about everything._

Derek’s surprised by how much he doesn’t really mind that. Stiles is still more of an acquaintance than anything else, but Derek wants to know more about him. It makes him happy to think that Stiles might want the same thing. Stiles’ first letter (which consisted of mostly questions) had actually been a relief; Derek was worried about sounding too nosy, but Stiles’ curiosity had soothed his nerves. His job keeps him busy and he’s kind of forgotten what it’s like to just enjoy getting to know a person. Or even enjoy someone’s company. Granted, Stiles is thousands of miles away from him, but it doesn’t seem that way when he’s reading Stiles’ letter. Stiles has a way of writing that makes it feel like he’s holding a normal conversation.

 _Also, did you take that picture of the sunset? Because it’s fucking_ amazing _. I’ve got it hanging above my desk so I can look at it every day. I wish I could see something like that in person._

Derek can’t help the grin that spreads across his face at the compliment, nor the warm feeling that curls inside him at the thought of Stiles liking his photograph enough to hang it up where he can see it all the time. Derek occasionally receives letters from readers of the travel magazines he works for, singing his praises and waxing poetic about the technical aspects of his photographs. But none of those seem quite as meaningful as Stiles’ short, honest comment.

Derek reads on.

_You asked me what I’m going to school for, and hell if I even know. I mean, technically I’m studying anthropology, but I haven’t got a clue what I’m going to do with my degree. I know going to college is what makes my dad happy, but...I don’t know. I wish there were a job in people-watching, because I am an awesome creeper who creeps. It’s fun to work out how people think, who they are, where they’re from, just by looking at their day-to-day lives. Or I think so, at least._

The rest of the letter quickly dissolves into more questions about Derek. Stiles clearly couldn’t resist the opportunity, but Derek doesn’t mind. It’s nice to have someone who seems genuinely interested in getting to know him with no ulterior motives, so the questions don’t feel as invasive as they might coming from someone else.

Besides, he has a few more questions of his own to ask.

***

Derek - April 6

_I didn’t grow up in the city. My mom always said it was too loud. (She wasn’t wrong.) There was this stream on our land, and it wound around the house in this huge circle. At night, when the moon would shine on it, the water looked like it was practically glowing. When I was a kid I used to pretend the river was a treasure trail. I would go out for hours, following its path and exploring the woods, and I’d come back home with all sorts of things in my pockets until my dad finally made a rule that nature had to stay outdoors. I guess my exploring has just expanded a bit since then. The world is my river now._

  
Stiles - April 13

_I don’t get why people do the anniversary thing. Like, one year? Okay, cool. Something to celebrate. You guys officially don’t hate each other. But every month? I mean, you might as well say, “I can’t believe we lasted this long, here’s to another four weeks!” My friend, Scott (I’ve mentioned him before, right?), has got this new chick he’s obsessed with and they’re basically perfect for each other with their puppy dog eyes and all the cutesy shit that you find on Hallmark cards. But if I have to sit through one more conversation about how her eyelashes sparkle I might hurl._

  
Derek - April 27

_We were out on this trail on Aoraki Mount Cook, no cell phone service or anything, and this massive snowstorm hits. Three days, stranded in this burrow we found. I had to replace two of my lenses because they got ruined in the cold. That’s what I get for taking detour trips while on assignment, I guess. I did manage to save the film, though, and I’ll tell you what: the pictures were worth it. I also got a frostbitten toe, but it was all in the name of art, right?_

  
Stiles - May 1

 _Don’t get me wrong, I love living with my dad. It’s definitely the cheaper option while I’m paying off college loans and figuring out my life. But sometimes it’s like he’s moving on with his life and I don’t even have my shit together. He even goes on more dates than I do! Granted, I don’t really go on_ any _, but it’s the principle of the matter. It’d be pretty sweet if me and Scott became step-brothers though. I’ve never had a real brother before. Do you have any siblings apart from Laura?_

  
Derek - May 9

_I’ll take your Jeep and raise you a Camaro. I saved up for years to afford it and then spent another few years fixing it up. My family thought I was crazy for spending all my money on what they thought was a heap of junk. But it was a beautiful car. I don’t have it anymore, though. I sold it when I moved to the city because it didn’t make sense to keep it. I’m not here all the time and everyone here takes public transportation or walks anyway. I guess if you’re ever in the city you could take a cab, but here’s a tip: don’t. The last time I was in one it smelled like vomit and pork rinds and I shelled out almost fifty bucks on the ride._

  
Stiles - May 16

_I tried to just push through it, I really did. I only managed because my dad was sitting there waiting for me to fail. But it was so hard, dude. I don’t know how people manage that on a daily basis. It was a complete abomination. Totally wrecked my entire worldview. If people can ruin that, then what’s next? Pretty soon, someone will tell me they’re no longer printing comic books. I can already see the world crumbling around me. So really, when it comes down to it, living in a world without comic books is basically on par with defying the laws of nature with a vegan pizza. I need about ten extra large meat-lovers specials to get the taste of that cardboard out of my mouth. I almost feel sorry for keeping dad on his diet. Well...I would, if I didn’t know Melissa sneaks him fatty steaks on their date nights._

  
Derek - May 28

_It’s that time of year again when everyone realizes they didn’t keep their New Year’s resolutions about getting in shape for the summer. So they flock to the gym in droves to try to make up for it before pool season ends and drive the regulars like me absolutely insane. (Although, personally, I think some of them are just there for the cable and AC.) Today, this couple that was working out together—and ‘working out’ is a generous description—kept hogging the rowing machines and playing around. After an hour or so I went over to ask if I could use one and instead I’m pretty sure I got propositioned with a threesome. If Laura finds out she’ll never let it go._

  
Stiles - June 4

_My mom used to take me and Scott to the park all the time when we were kids. She was so awesome. I remember the other moms would always get passive-aggressive with her because she’d let us do stuff we “weren’t supposed to” like twist the swing chains until we were dizzy or go down the slide head first. One time Scott spun the merry-go-round so fast that I puked and the other moms went all PTO-Soccer-Mom crazy on her about how she was a terrible influence. I remember her just sitting there smiling at them, and when they finished she just got up and spun the merry-go-round so Scott and I could ride at the same time._

  
Derek - June 15

 _Of all the places you could find yourself on a Monday morning in New York, the absolute worst place to be is in a coffee shop. Not only will you find yourself among the grumpiest businessmen in the city, but you will also be surrounded by people who expect you to practically define your entire life’s choices in the span of ten seconds, just to buy a cup of coffee. And people like me who have no decision-making abilities to speak of (I blame that on Laura’s overbearing opinions and the fact that my family was full of dominating women), have no idea what the hell we’re doing. Do I want short or tall? Caf or decaf? Light or dark? Low-fat or non-fat (God forbid I ever ask for_ fat _)? So, I have to decipher the terminology for a plain cup of joe and then pay the prepubescent kid at the counter seven bucks to understand what I’m saying. I think I’m more awake after the ordering experience than I am after the cup of coffee._

***

 _Do you ever wonder about your life? I wonder about mine. I mean, my life’s great, but there’s not much to it. Do I keep doing the same old thing because I like it, or because I’m too scared to go out and actually_ live _? Sometimes I’ll see something on tv or read it in a book, and it’ll seem so surreal. But shouldn’t it be the other way around? Shouldn’t what I’m doing with my life be what I’m in awe of? So much of—_

The sound of the front door opening draws Derek's attention away from the letter he’s reading, and soon enough he hears Laura calling his name. Getting up with a sigh, he tucks Stiles’ letter underneath his pillow to finish later and heads out to greet his sister.

“Hey, Der,” she says, smiling as she dumps a bag of groceries onto the counter.

Derek walks up to hug her. "Hey. How was work?"

"Same old, same old," Laura dismisses with a wave of her hand. “So, I was thinking of having a few people over for a game night this weekend. What do you think?”

“I’ll be in the field by Wednesday,” Derek says. He nudges Laura with his hip and takes over putting away the groceries, ignoring her grumbling.

“Sometimes I think you plan your trips just to interfere with my plans,” she complains. “Would it kill you to be social?”

“I _am_ social,” Derek argues, hoping she’ll drop it. He is not in the mood to have another conversation about how he works too much.

She doesn’t drop it.

“Oh, really?” Laura rounds the kitchen island, sitting on one of the barstools and propping her chin in her hand. “When’s the last time you talked to someone outside of work, hm?”

Derek rolls his eyes at the familiar query, opening the refrigerator. “Today, actually.” The words pop out before Derek can stop them, but he regrets the lie almost immediately when Laura gets that look in her eye.

“Do tell,” she insists, leaning forward.

Derek sighs again, turning to put the milk in the fridge to buy some time and come up with a more decent lie. Laura can always see right through him when he tries to trick her. His mind searches for a name of someone Laura doesn’t know, and he quickly blurts out, “Stiles.”

"Stiles?" Laura asks. "What's that?"

"Stiles isn't a _what_ , he's a _who_."

Laura perks up. "What kind of name is Stiles?"

"Does it matter?" Derek asks defensively. He balls up the empty bag and shoves it into the cabinet under the sink with all the other plastic bags, then turns to the rest of the groceries. Setting aside the vegetables to be washed and chopped up, Derek glances up at Laura when she stays silent.

"Fine," Laura concedes. "So where did you meet this _Stiles_ then?" She's already up and moving, getting out pans and ingredients to make dinner.

Derek quickly looks away again, mumbling a response.

"What was that?" Laura prods, turning to face him.

"On that pen pal site," Derek repeats as he puts away a box of crackers. He doesn't trust the devilish grin that creeps onto Laura's face.

"I didn't know you actually went through with that, you sneak! No wonder you’ve been hoarding the mail recently."

"Well, I did,” Derek says, crossing his arms. “And I got a letter from him today, so may I go finish reading it, your highness?"

Laura eyes him for a moment before giving him a regal nod. "As you were."

Derek snorts as he heads back to his room, stealing a carrot from the chopping board and flicking Laura’s ear when he walks by. He realizes that he hasn't told Stiles about his upcoming trip either, and rushes to go write back.

***

"Stiles!"

Stiles hops out of his desk chair, taking the stairs two at a time and completely skipping the last three in favor of leaping to the ground floor. Swinging around the banister, he jogs into the living room where his dad is reclined with a bottle of beer, reading the _Beacon Hills Tribune_.

"What's up?" Stiles asks.

His dad sends him a dry look from over his newspaper. "Would it kill you to walk?"

"Too slow," Stiles says with a grin. “My time is precious.”

"Hmm." His dad nods his head towards the coffee table. "You got a package in the mail."

"Really?" Stiles rushes over to the table, his socks sliding on the hardwood floor. He almost never gets any packages, except when he orders his textbooks, but how boring is _that_? The only things he's been receiving recently have been letters from Derek, but Derek's last one had told him not to expect anything for awhile.

_I'm heading out on my next assignment soon, so I'll be out of the country for a few weeks. You can still send your letters and I'll have Laura set them aside, but I probably won't be able to write back until I return._

_P.S. Good luck on your class presentation._

That had been over a week ago. Looking over the package before him, Stiles wonders who else would be sending him something. There's no return address, but the handwriting that's written out his own address looks familiar. Stiles is grinning as he inspects the small box—it's wrapped in dirty brown paper and looks like it's been dragged through the mud at least a few times.

"If you're ordering drugs, I don't wanna know," his dad calls as Stiles carries the package back upstairs with him.

"Very funny!" Stiles yells back before shutting his bedroom door. He drops into his desk chair with a little spin, setting the package down before him. Somehow, the possibility of getting a package instead of a letter from Derek is making Stiles feel kind of giddy. Letters are one thing, but gifts? That's an entirely different ball game.

Impatient to see what's inside, Stiles carefully rips away the brown paper and opens the box. At first it looks like it's filled with a pile of dried grass, but when he pushes the brush aside he finds a tied canvas bag and a note written on weathered paper.

_Stiles,_

_I'm in Ethiopia right now, and I couldn't help but think of your coffee addiction as I wandered the street markets. You'd love the variety here_ — _there are more kinds of coffee than you could possibly imagine. I got you one you've probably never tried before; the cherries have been processed naturally so the coffee is probably going to be a little sweeter than you're used to, but I hope you like it._

_Try it out and tell me what you think._

_All the best,_

_Derek_

Stiles runs his thumb absently over Derek's name, smiling to himself. Stiles has avoided talking about Derek too much with his dad, wanting to keep their letters to himself for a little longer. He knows his dad can tell something’s up, and Stiles has to remind himself that this is just a pen pal thing and not to get carried away. It’s hard not to get attached though, especially since they’ve been exchanging letters so frequently (and now _gifts_?). But Stiles tries not to think too hard on that. Soon the sweet, syrupy scent of the coffee draws his attention back to the bag he'd removed from Derek's package, and Stiles rushes back downstairs to find the coffee grinder.

***

“You’ve got another letter from your _boyfriend_ ,” Laura sing songs when Derek walks through the door.

He drops his gear onto the floor with a sigh, following Laura’s teasing laughter into the kitchen. She’s stirring a pot of rice on the stove, looking like the cat that got the cream as she holds the aforementioned letter in her free hand.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Derek grouses, moving to snatch the letter away from her. But he’s still jet lagged from the flight and isn’t fast enough; Laura darts away, wagging her finger at him.

"How was your trip?" she asks, tucking the letter into her back pocket.

Rather than fight her for it, Derek drops onto a barstool, running a hand through his hair. His fingers catch on the greasy strands and he realizes he hasn't showered in a few days. Hygiene isn’t always a priority on some of his jobs.

"Good," he says. "Customs was a bitch, though."

"Aren't they always," Laura commiserates.

Derek grunts in reply, then drags his camera bag off his shoulder and onto the counter. "I visited the Lower Omo tribes again. Saragolea has grown up so much; you should see how tall she is now."

"I'll never know how you keep track of all their names," Laura says, walking up behind him to peek over his shoulder.

"It's not that hard," Derek mutters, powering on his camera and sliding in one of his memory cards. He flips through a few photographs, stopping on one showing a young girl with smooth, ebony skin and an impish look in her eyes. She’s wearing a cloth over her head and various beaded dressings decorate her neck and chest. "Oh, this is Lago. Remember her? She got married a few days before I left last year."

"She's beautiful," Laura says. "Are you doing a follow-up piece?"

"Kind of." Derek flips through a couple more shots before powering the camera off again. "Visiting them wasn’t on the books, but I volunteered for the case study out there after I heard Matt was trying to get the job."

Matt Daehler is the kind of photographer Derek has little patience for. He is entitled, going into jobs with the idea that everyone should cater to his "muse" and spare no expense. It’s frustrating, because that kind of reputation makes it harder for people like Derek who come through those areas afterwards with good intentions.

Derek knows that you can't get anywhere without befriending the locals. He works with the people he wants to photograph, getting to know them and forming meaningful friendships that last beyond his job on site. He makes sure to send them copies of his pictures of them and not just barrel into their homelands like he has any right to be there.

It takes longer, but he finds the entire process worthwhile, both in the quality of his photographs and the ongoing network of friends he builds wherever he travels. The evidence of that is clear, even in this most recent job. It’s the third time he's travelled to Ethiopia in as many years, and each time he's been greeted with a happy welcome and open invitations to return. And this from tribes that have been known to drive out foreigners with weapons and threats. The photographs he's been able to take would never have been possible if he didn't know the tribes the way he does.

Laura slaps the counter with Stiles's letter, jerking Derek from his thoughts. "Here. Go take a shower and get your grimy gear out of my kitchen," she says with a smile.

Derek picks up the letter and sees that the back of the envelope has “Welcome home, cupcake!” written on it in pink marker, with little hearts drawn around it for good measure. No wonder Laura couldn’t stop smirking at him.

“It’s good to have you back, Der.”

***

Of course, Derek should have known better than to try and relax. Laura is nothing if not an opportunist, so he’s hardly fresh out of his shower when she forces him to get dressed so they can go out. Despite his protests, it only takes her twenty minutes to bully him into a bar about ten blocks from their apartment.

“Remind me again why I’m here?” he gripes, still not willing to let it go.

Laura rolls her eyes and leans over the counter to catch the bartender’s attention. She orders for them both when the guy comes over, then glances back at Derek. “You promised we’d go out once you got back from your trip.”

“I didn’t mean the _night I flew back in_ ,” he says. He accepts the beer she shoves into his hands and scans the bar for an empty table. The room is more crowded than he would have expected for a weeknight, and he resigns himself to crouching over the bar until someone abandons their claim to a table.

“Consider it your penance for ditching the last two game nights.” She’s already knocked back a shot of tequila and orders another drink, seemingly unperturbed by the lack of seating.

Derek takes a long pull from his beer, unwilling to keep arguing. Instead he asks, “Where’s Elliot?”

“He’s working late, as usual,” she sighs. Elliot is an attorney at a huge firm in the city, which means he works insanely long hours. Despite the fact that Laura’s been dating Elliot for almost two years, Derek can count on both hands the number of times he’s actually hung out with the guy. “He mentioned us all getting together this weekend if they wrap up enough of their cases.”

Derek hums his assent but doesn’t reply. They sit in companionable silence and order another round of drinks, but while his shower earlier was refreshing, Derek can already feel the beer taking its toll on his exhausted body. It wouldn’t take much for him to fall asleep right here at the bar, despite the constant chatter and music resonating around him. After about twenty minutes, Laura drags him over to an empty barstool while she escapes to the bathroom, and his mind drifts lazily. Usually a crowd like this would overwhelm him, but he’s far too tired to care at this point. As it is, Laura’s already fielded off two overly enthusiastic drunks for him, despite her pointed looks encouraging him to take them up on their salacious offers.

Derek’s never been one for hitting it off with random strangers. He’s certainly not about to start now in the middle of a rowdy bar. Small talk is foreign to him, and he never knows what other people expect from him. The only exception to this that he can think of is Stiles. There’s no denying that pursuing this pen pal relationship was out of the norm for Derek, but he’s glad he did. Stiles has turned out to be one of the most genuine people Derek’s ever met—and that’s without ever having _met_ him. When he thinks back through the letters they’ve exchanged so far though, he can’t help but wonder what it would be like if they’d been introduced under more normal circumstances.

With the amount of time Derek spends keeping to himself, he doubts he’d have given Stiles the time of day, which would’ve been a shame. Derek doesn’t even technically know what Stiles looks like, but that doesn’t really matter as much now that he’s gotten to know Stiles. Of course, given the chance, Derek would want to see what Stiles looks like in a heartbeat, but he thinks that it wouldn’t change their relationship in the same way a first impression would.

Derek studiously ignores the crowd of people pressing in on him, contemplating how Stiles is spending his Tuesday night. Probably doing something far more low-key, like playing video games or watching a movie with his dad. It makes Derek long for the more sedate life of a small town, like the one he grew up in. He followed Laura to New York years ago, but it’s never felt like home to him. While Laura thrives on getting lost in a city thrumming with people, Derek just feels like he’s drowning most of the time. He knows he wouldn’t live here if it weren’t for her.

 _Is this the kind of place Stiles would like?_ Derek wonders. _A city that doesn’t sleep, that thrives on a constant buzz of energy?_ It isn’t the first time Derek’s asked himself that, since Stiles makes it no secret that he can’t wait to get out of Beacon Hills. But Derek wonders if that’s just an itch to see the world and experience living abroad, or if Stiles really does hate the slow pace of living in the suburbs. Derek thinks he’d be willing to move to the west coast if it were to a place as peaceful as Beacon Hills.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, Derek freezes. Since when is moving something to think about? Sure, he likes Stiles, and he can even admit that he’s probably a little more invested in this pen pal thing than is normal. But liking a guy and wanting to move cross-country are two very different things. Not to mention the fact that Stiles has given no indication of feeling anything towards him other than friendship. The thought is like a bucket of ice water to his head, and Derek is both frustrated with himself and his emotions. Just because Stiles is the first guy to show an interest in _Derek_ , not in just his looks, doesn’t mean anything. He needs to stop reading so much into this and take a step back.

When Laura returns from the bathroom, he lets her hold their seats while he goes to order another drink. He’s always found that distraction is the best way to go about ignoring his problems.

***

Stiles jumps in his chair when a huge stack of paperwork is slammed onto the counter in front of him, pulling his attention from the letter he’s writing. He quickly scrambles to cover up the evidence of his distraction, but the effort is futile judging by the look his dad is leveling at him right now.

“Heh. _Heyyy_ , pops,” Stiles says with a forced grin. “What’s up?”

“You tell me,” his dad says. Stiles knows better than to answer. “Or maybe you could explain why all these cases were sitting in the shredding pile, when they should’ve been re-filed.”

Stiles’ eyes grow wide. “Oops?”

The look of chagrin on his dad’s face is nothing new, but it’s no less guilt-inducing. His dad had the look down to a science by the time Stiles was a teenager. “Son, you’ve been all over the place lately. Is something going on?”

Well, geez. He knows he’s been kind of distracted with writing back and forth to Derek the past few months, but he didn’t think it was _that_ bad. It had to be though, if even his dad was starting to take notice.

“It won’t happen again?” Stiles ventures, hoping to get out of a lecture.

His dad sighs. “Make sure it doesn’t.” He’s already walking away when he stops and turns around to add, “And go buy your own stamps, for goodness sake. You’re gonna break the station’s budget if you keep stealing them for all those love notes.”

“They aren’t love notes!” Stiles cries out, but his dad has already turned the corner.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles picks up the stack of papers in front of him and heads back to the filing room to put them away. He might not have time to finish his letter before the end of shift, but that doesn’t mean he can’t think about what he’s going to write.

The thing about being a pen pal with Derek is that writing to him is so easy. Stiles doesn’t even have to meet the guy to know that he likes him. Stiles is a pretty visual person. He isn’t great at talking on the phone for the simple reason that he can’t see the person’s face when he’s talking to them. He relies on visual cues for just about everything, but with Derek he has none of that. Yet, it’s never felt awkward with him, not once. When he writes to Derek, he never has to search for something to say.

They get along pretty well for two guys who’ve never met. Sure, they tease and prod and argue over trite things (like why Batman will _always_ be better than any other superhero, or the sacrilege of putting meat on a grilled cheese sandwich). But there’s no judgement, no criticism. Their conversations are relaxed and effortless. Stiles finds himself wanting to know the mundane details of Derek’s life, just as he willingly shares the dull, day-to-day aspects of his own.

Of course, Derek’s life is significantly less dull than Stiles’. After that first picture (and the Ethiopian coffee that had been practically _orgasmic_ ), Derek started sending things with his letters pretty regularly. In the beginning, it was just some of his photographs. There were the close-up shots of Moroccan mosaics, beautiful masterpieces filled with swirls of symmetry and tiles of bright colors; the snow-crusted cityscapes of St. Petersburg, showcasing the intricacies of Russian architecture; the crumbling slopes of Machu Picchu, with endless green mountains of Peru rising in the distance.

Stiles feels a sense of awe every time he tacks up another one of Derek’s pictures onto his wall, displaying a world outside of Beacon Hills that Stiles couldn’t have imagined even in his wildest dreams. He’s seen these places before, of course, in textbooks, on the internet, even while watching the odd show on Discovery Channel because there’s no baseball game on tv. But looking at these landmarks through Derek’s eyes, it almost feels like Stiles is actually there for a few moments in time. It makes his burning need to see the world outside of his small town grow exponentially each day.

And even beyond the landscapes and places that Derek visits are the _people_ he photographs—the pictures of the Roma people from Derek’s trip to Bulgaria, showcasing both the desolation and camaraderie of their lives as gypsies; the shamans from Mongolia interacting with the various nomads across the rural landscapes; and, as Stiles finds when he gets home later that evening, the whole magazine Derek sends him filled with an entire study of Ethiopian Culture.

At first, Stiles doesn’t realize why Derek would send him a magazine, of all things. It isn’t until he’s flipping through it that he realizes it’s one of the main magazines that Derek has mentioned getting commissions from, and that these must be some of his photographs from the trip he took to Ethiopia a little while ago. He’d forgotten for a moment that Derek actually makes his living off of his pictures, and doesn’t just travel the world taking photographs simply so he can send them to Stiles afterwards. It makes Stiles smile and go back through the magazine with a keener eye, taking the time to look at each picture more carefully, and by the time he reaches page 34, he’s glad he did. Because there, in a photograph at the bottom of the page, standing between a few young tribal men, is Derek himself.

Derek stands out as the only white person in a magazine celebrating the rich, dark skinned tribes. Stiles can’t imagine who else it could be, and the caption below the photograph confirms his assumptions: _Derek Hale, photographer, stands with Daodo and his sons as they check fishing nets for the daily catch._ Stiles drinks in the photograph, still in disbelief that he is seeing Derek for the first time, after over four months of knowing him only through his writing. Derek is no sixty year old creep, that’s for sure.

In fact, he’s one of the hottest men Stiles has ever seen. Sure, that could be because Derek’s standing shirtless and thigh-deep in a river, with sweat rolling down his tan, sculpted chest. But Stiles doesn’t discriminate; he greedily takes in every aspect of Derek that he can, from the thick scruff on his face and the dark hair falling into his very green eyes, to the strong hands holding part of the fishing net, to the sharp jut of his hipbones where his khaki shorts sit just a little too low. It’s clear, even though Derek isn’t smiling, that he’s enjoying himself, completely in his element even while surrounded by a foreign land. His posture is relaxed and he is leaning towards the man on his left, not set apart like a tourist might be.

Stiles tries not to think too hard about it when he cuts the picture out of the magazine and hangs it up with the others Derek has sent him. He just likes the photo, okay? But he can’t resist mentioning it in his next letter to Derek, even if he’s not sure Derek meant for Stiles to realize it was him.

***

“You’ve been writing letters to him for almost five months, Derek.”

“Your point?” Derek glances up from his laptop, where he’s sorting through the edits from his most recent photoshoot.

Laura walks over, shutting his laptop amidst his protests of indignation and leaning her elbows back against the counter. “That’s longer than any of your relationships have lasted.”

“First of all, my relationships aren’t any of your business.” Derek sighs. “Second, as I’ve already told you, Stiles and I aren’t in a _relationship_.”

“Aren’t you?”

“ _No_ ,” Derek says, even as his mind contradicts his words. It does feel quite a lot like a relationship, and he’s certainly grown closer to Stiles than anyone else he can think of, apart from his own sister. In a few short months, Stiles has become his friend, confidante, someone he trusts. It’s been a long time since he’s shared so much with someone so willingly, or known someone else on such a basic level. And, to think, he’d met Stiles in a place as unobtrusive as a pen pal website.

When Derek glances up, Laura’s giving him a look like she knows what he’s been thinking. She probably does, too; she’s always been able to read him better than anyone.

“Maybe I like Stiles a little,” Derek admits to her glee. “But it doesn’t make any difference, because he doesn’t see me that way.”

“And how would you know?” Laura asks. “Have you even asked him?”

“Oh, sure, because I can just put that out there and expect it not to be awkward afterwards when he doesn’t feel the same way.”

“ _If_ he doesn’t feel the same way,” Laura corrects. “Which I highly doubt. Since when do pen pals actually keep in contact beyond a few cursory letters? You sometimes get two letters from him in _one week_ , and that’s not even counting all the things you send back.”

“It’s not like that, Laura,” Derek says. He wishes it were, he can admit that much to himself. But there’s no way Stiles feels like that towards him, and Derek is definitely not going to ruin a good thing by bringing it up. “Can’t we just keep things as they are?”

“I just don’t want to see you hurt again, Der,” Laura says, leaning forward so her head rests against his.

Derek leans back enough that he can press a kiss to her forehead. “I know,” he says, speaking into her hair. “But I have this, and that’s enough for now, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” She stays against him for a few moments before leaning back, her ever-present grin back in place. “He sent you a package this time. That’s a new development.”

“Laura!” Derek scolds, but he can’t keep his mouth pressed into a frown for long. “You can’t keep hiding my mail. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”

“Whatever,” she says, brushing it off. “Family trumps the law, loser. Hint: it’s in the vegetable drawer. Which you would _know_ if you bothered to do any cooking around here.”

“Why would I do that when you make such delicious meals?” Derek goes over to the refrigerator and pulls open the aforementioned drawer, seeing a slim package from Stiles in there, just as Laura had said.

Laura laughs. “Flattery will get you nowhere, asshole!”

Derek just grins at her as he walks back to his room. He’s never received anything other than letters from Stiles, despite the fact that he sends Stiles things all the time. Stiles had mentioned it once, saying, _I don’t think anything in Beacon Hills could possibly interest you, after everywhere you’ve been and everything you’ve seen. Except for me, of course. I’m the hidden treasure in this town of losers, ha._

Derek can certainly agree with that.

He eagerly opens the rectangular package, finding a wrapped box covered with what looks like an entire roll of tape. He laughs outright at Stiles’ paranoia, remembering his rant in one letter about people opening their mail and possibly tracking what they write to each other. After a couple attempts at peeling the tape off, Derek gives up and tracks down his pocket knife so he can cut through the layers of tape.

On top of everything is a letter, as usual, and that lends a little bit more normalcy to the random package from Stiles. He opens that first, endless years of etiquette drilled into him from his parents about opening cards before the presents on birthdays. The letter starts off as usual, with Stiles barrelling right into a topic with little preamble. After their first few letters, Stiles had done away with all formality, and Derek can’t say he misses it.

_Isn’t it just my luck that fucking Mr. Harris, of all people, is now an adjunct professor at the college? Because he certainly didn’t torment me enough in high school…now I have to suffer through his summer course for the next two months. Well, at least he can’t give me detention now. Right? That’s not a thing, is it? Oh, hell. I bet there’s some secret college club that’s there just to punish delinquent students or something. Not that I’m a delinquent. Most of the time, at least._

Derek shakes his head, trying to picture Stiles breaking the law. He’s mentioned a few times when he and Scott had gotten into trouble over their excessive pranking in high school, but nothing too outrageous. It’s just like Stiles to worry over something like that, though. Derek reads on, as Stiles writes about Scott being home for the summer and the things he has planned for the two of them.

_It’s not anything too exciting; Beacon Hills isn’t the most thrilling place. But no matter what we plan, we usually just wind up playing video games and bingeing on pizza, so whatever._

Derek wishes Stiles wouldn’t put down his hometown so often. Sure, it’s no New York, but Derek likes that. He isn’t really a city person himself, he just stays here because it’s where Laura lives. But he loves reading about nosy Mrs. Mahealani who lives across the street from Stiles, or Scott’s mom, Mrs. McCall, the nurse who is dating Stiles’ dad and is apparently a closet badass. It’s all small-town gossip, but it’s so nice to just feel the essence of community that seeps into Stiles’ letters. Things like that only come from growing up in a small town.

_By the way, I don’t know if I ever properly thanked you for that heavenly Ethiopian coffee, aside from waxing poetic for an entire page about the drink itself, so here, have a card! I found it in the corner mart the other day and thought it was fitting._

In the little box below is a small greeting card that says **FRANKS A LOT!** and has a picture of a cartoon hotdog waving at him. It’s taped to a package of Ball Park franks, and Derek chuckles at the joke. They’d argued over the course of five letters last month about the merits of Ball Park franks versus other beef franks (The Ball Parks had won, simply because Stiles can drill a point into the ground if he feels so inclined). And Stiles, being the juvenile he’s proven himself to be, is clearly taking every opportunity to rub his victory in Derek’s face.

_So, you never told me you had a second job as a personal trainer, dude. I saw that picture and even your muscles have muscles. Any secret workout tips you want to share? Not that I do much working out aside from running across campus when I’m late for class._

For a second, Derek freezes, wondering if Stiles somehow found pictures of him online. He doesn’t have a Facebook account or anything, but Stiles is a self-proclaimed Master of the Internet and Derek wouldn’t put it past him to unearth things about him that he didn’t even know were in the public domain. He’s never been all that good with technology, outside of what’s required for his photography and editing software.

But then Derek realizes that he sent Stiles the Ethiopian issue in his last package, and remembers the picture of himself in there. He grimaces, because that’s possibly the least flattering photograph ever, with the sweaty, non-showered version of himself while on a job. Only, Stiles doesn’t seem to care, or at least he is too polite to mention it. Instead, Derek realizes, Stiles mentioned his _muscles_. Sure, it sounds like a joke, but the comment still makes him blush, thinking about Stiles looking over his body.

_I figured since I know what you look like now, it’s only fair that you get a picture of me, too._

Derek’s heart pounds a little faster as he turns back to the box in his lap, seeing something at the bottom of the box that he hadn’t noticed at first. He’s wondered what Stiles looks like ever since the first letter, unused to having no face to put to a name. It’s with apprehension that Derek picks up the picture, but he heaves a sigh of frustrated amusement once he sees it clearly. The photograph is an uncomfortably close shot of what Derek assumes is Stiles’ eye. It’s pretty and brown, with thick lashes and a mole just below the corner of his eye, but it’s not at all what Derek had expected it to be. On the back, Stiles has written: _Eye see you!_

Derek smiles fondly, but stops once he realizes what he’s doing. Laura’s right, he’s so screwed.

***

The annual fourth of July celebration in Beacon Hills is a pretty big deal. Stiles usually spends most of the day stuffing hot dogs in his mouth and cutting off his old lacrosse coach when Finstock gets too drunk and starts in on his _Independence Day_ motivational speech. This year, however, it’s Beacon Hills Police Department’s turn to host the event. Being that Stiles technically works at the BHPD and is practically a member of the department by birth, he’s being roped into helping with the setup.

He’s been banned from the entire east side of the park—“Remember the firework incident a few years back?” his father reminds him dryly. Stiles does, but he doesn’t think it’s fair that he gets stuck manning the grill instead. It’s a freaking BBQ, for goodness sake, now he’ll never get away. Rather than listen to Stiles protest, his dad simply tosses Stiles his _King of the Grill_ apron and shoves about twenty pounds of hamburger meat into his hands.

Stiles resigns himself to grill duty for the foreseeable future, but it’s not too bad. The weather is beautiful, and from his vantage point Stiles has a great view of everyone in the park. He decided long ago that people-watching did not fall on the stalker end of the creeper spectrum, so he spends most of the afternoon doing just that. He spots Mrs. McCall over by the dessert table and is just beginning to wonder where Scott’s gotten off to when his dad comes back bearing more raw meat.

“Aw, dad, really?” Stiles whines.

“Got somewhere you need to be, son?” his dad huffs good naturedly. “Or maybe it’s _someone_ you need to get back to.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Stiles mutters. He steals one of the fresh hotdogs off the tray he just grilled and shoves it in his mouth when his dad’s back is turned.

“You’ve sure been getting a lot of mail lately,” his dad continues, shooting Stiles a look.

Stiles focuses on spacing the burger patties evenly on the grill, trying (and failing) to look disinterested. He shrugs. “Maybe a little more than usual.” He glances over to find his dad looking unimpressed. “Or _a lot_ more. Geez, dad, rub it in why don’t you?”

“When am I gonna meet this guy?”

Stiles almost chokes on the hotdog he just finished chewing, slamming his fist against his chest to force it down the right pipe. _Meet_ Derek? “I don’t even know if I like him!”

“You’ve made a shrine on your bedroom wall out of his pictures.”

“It’s a collage!” Stiles protests, flipping the burgers before they burn. “I was feeling crafty!”

His dad snorts and Stiles can’t help but feel a little indignant. “Son, the last time you felt crafty, I found a life-size sculpture of Lydia Martin in your closet made entirely of old comic books and wet toilet paper.”

Okay, maybe he’d gotten a little out of hand as a kid, but he’d been ten! His dad couldn’t actually hold that against him. Puppy love is a serious ailment. “So my paper mâché skills needed improvement,” Stiles says, ignoring the real argument entirely. “What’s your point?”

“My _point_ ,” his dad says, “is if you spend all your time being ‘crafty’ this time around, you’re gonna lose your muse to another Jackson Whittemore.”

Stiles grabs his chest in mock pain, narrowing his eyes at his dad. “Ouch, dad, way to twist the knife.” He completely disregards the fact that his dad is basically implying that Stiles’ level of obsession with Derek could rival his love for Lydia. Which is just ridiculous. Right?

“No, twisting the knife would be reminding you that you used to check out Jackson's ass more than Lydia's,” his dad replies, smirking at Stiles over the back of the grill.

“You promised you would _never speak of that again_!” Stiles splutters, mortified that someone might have overheard.

“Hey, Stiles!” Bless Scott and his impeccable timing. “You up for a round of frisbee golf?”

“Hell, yeah, dude!” Stiles says immediately, coughing dramatically when his dad gives him another look. “I mean... _boy_ , am I ever!”

The sheriff rolls his eyes and then shoves Stiles away, taking over the grill. Stiles can’t help but feel relieved. He’s not sure what these feelings that he has for Derek are yet, but he’s not quite ready to be discussing them with his dad, that’s for sure. He runs off to join Scott in the open grassy area, glancing back only once to find his dad watching him thoughtfully.

***

Derek’s stretched out on the couch, his laptop on his chest as he mindlessly clicks through Wikipedia links, when Laura strolls into the room carrying the new issue of _Cook’s Illustrated_. Derek glances up long enough to glare at her when she shoves at his feet to make room on the couch, but obligingly lifts his legs long enough for her to sit down before he drops them into her lap.

She flips through a few pages of recipes before, “Wanna pay back one of those favors you owe me?” Laura’s never been one for small talk.

Derek snorts. “No,” he says, clicking another random link and winding up on a webpage about the mining culture in Taiwan. He clearly remembers the last time Laura roped him into “returning a favor” and it involved three handsy co-eds looking for a cheap yoga instructor.

Derek didn’t even _do_ yoga.

“Great!” Laura replies, ignoring his response entirely. She pulls her hair back into a ponytail and ties the elastic as she speaks, then continues flipping nonchalantly through her magazine. “A couple of my friends need a photographer to take their engagement photos, but they’re already breaking the bank with student loans.”

When the room is silent for a few moments, Derek glances up from his laptop screen to find Laura staring at him expectantly. “And?”

Laura rolls her eyes. “You. Camera. Pictures. _Hello_?”

“I don’t photograph people,” Derek says. He clicks on a few more links and then begins reading about the history of Bollywood. He can see Laura scoffing from the corner of his eye but doesn’t bother looking back up. It drives her crazy when he ignores her, and he gets too much satisfaction from pushing her buttons.

“You take pictures of people all the time!” Laura finally protests after Derek’s been silent for a few minutes.

His Wikipedia trail has now led him to an article on Norwegian currency. “That’s not even the same thing, Laura.”

Laura throws up her arms, losing whatever page she was on. “ _How_ is that any different?”

Derek looks back up. He doesn’t need to know about the Guang Ming Temple anyway. “Because those people aren’t _posing_. They’re living their lives, without any direction from my end.” He doesn’t bother to mention his distaste for the portrait photography business in general. That tangent could last all afternoon.

“Well, if the stench of sex in their apartment is anything to go by,” Laura says with a smirk, “their engagement is pretty _live_ ly. So just go with it, Derek.”

“I’m not doing it, Laura.”

He flinches as she whacks his shin with her rolled-up magazine.

Two days later, Derek is feeling like an incredibly uncomfortable third wheel as he photographs the newly engaged couple, Norman and Judy. They’ve already been shooting for an hour and Derek’s not sure he has _anything_ worth printing. He really just wants to burn the entire shoot, to be honest. It’s a good thing he brought his digital camera and not one with film, because that would have been such a waste.

So far, they’ve done a couple of poses Derek saw online once, and some typical engagement shots. Derek figures if he can keep the focus on Judy’s ring then he can ignore the fact that this couple is a little too into their PDA. Laura wasn’t kidding about their...attraction to each other. After Derek asked them to kiss for a picture and then wound up as a witness to a bit too much dry humping for the family-friendly park they were in, he’s tried to keep everything above the waist.

It isn’t really working out.

“Look,” Derek cuts in awkwardly, “just...hug her shoulder or something.” When Norman—he can just imagine Stiles’ commentary here: ‘Who names their kid _Norman_ , hasn’t anyone seen _Psycho_?’—grabs Judy by the waist and greets her shoulder with his _mouth_ instead, Derek wants to slam his camera against his face.

“Okay, nevermind.” Derek looks around for something, _anything_ , to salvage the shoot and spots a beautiful oak tree a few hundred yards away. Breaking apart the couple’s groping session, he points in that direction. “Go stand by that tree over there, and we’ll take a few more.”

He soon realizes his mistake in giving them something to lean against and immediately regrets ever agreeing to do this shoot in the first place. Pulling out his phone and turning his back on Norman and Judy, Derek shoots Laura a scathing text.

_This pays back way more than one favor._

***

“Dude!”

Stiles can hear Scott grumbling all the way from the bathroom, so he finishes brushing his teeth and walks back down the hall to his room, only to find Scott at his dresser digging through what he’s designated as Derek’s Drawer.

“Hey, man!” Stiles scrambles over, shouldering Scott out of the way and grabbing all of the letters and things Scott’s pulled from the drawer. Stiles sets about putting them back carefully in their original order. “What the hell?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Scott says. “What happened to all my shit?”

“I moved it into the hall closet,” Stiles tells him distractedly, still focused on reorganizing Derek’s letters since Scott messed them all up.

He misses the way Scott’s mouth drops open, but he hears the scoff. “Stiles, are you for real? I’ve had that drawer in your dresser since I was like eight years old!” Scott grabs Stiles’ shoulder, turning him so he can see his face. “Who is all this from?”

“Nobody,” Stiles deflects, turning back around. “Just a pen pal.”

“It’s obviously not just _nobody_ , dude.” Scott drops onto the bed petulantly, messing with his Xbox controller until their game comes back on. “You gave them my _drawer_.”

Stiles remains silent, closing the drawer gently and then opening another to pull out some pajama bottoms. It’s not that he doesn’t want Scott to know about Derek. He technically already does, since Stiles hasn’t been able to keep quiet about the guy on their weekly phone calls. But he’s been kind of vague about how he and Derek know each other, not telling Scott that Derek and his pen pal are one and the same.

“Look, man, I’m sorry for freaking out,” Scott says, his sad face doing a good job at guilt tripping Stiles. “It’s just a drawer...but you know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” Stiles finishes changing and goes to sit next to Scott on the bed, grabbing the spare controller. After a few moments of just sitting there, they both come to a silent agreement of forgiveness and resume the game, losing themselves in the endless violence that only a zombie apocalypse can provide.

“It’s Derek,” Stiles says finally, after they’ve beaten two more levels.

Scott misses his shot and has to cut down the zombie in front of him with a machete, but otherwise gives no sign of having heard Stiles. That’s why they’re best friends. Because Scott knows when Stiles wants to talk something out and when it’s best to just let him work through it on his own.

“I met him through that stupid pen pal website, and we’ve been sending each other stuff for months now.”

“So, what’s the problem?” Scott asks.

Stiles slouches in defeat when he’s killed by a wayward zombie. “Where do I even begin?”

“Well,” Scott ventures, “you like him, right?”

“Dude, that’s so not the point,” Stiles says, even though Scott’s comment reminds him a lot of the conversation he and his dad had a couple weeks ago at the BBQ.

Scott is focused on getting the zombie antidote back to the hospital and is silent until he reaches his destination. “I don’t see what the big deal is. He wouldn’t send you all that shit if he didn’t like you. Pen pals usually only send letters, right?”

“We haven’t even met!” Stiles blurts out. It’s one thing for them to get to know each other in person, but he feels like they’ve become really close in a really short amount of time, when Stiles could pass Derek on the street and likely not even recognize him.

“Look,” Scott says, pausing the game and turning towards Stiles. “You know more about this guy than I did about Allison when we first met. So, the way I see it, you’re ahead of the game. By the time you guys actually meet, you could be ready for an actual relationship instead of making all the stupid mistakes I did while trying to date _and_ get to know Allison at the same time.”

“You _were_ kind of a douche,” Stiles supplies with a grin. Scott punches him in the shoulder for the comment, but Stiles keeps smiling. Scott has always been the more insightful one between them, while Stiles tries to balance between his fatuous logic and obsessive emotions. “You really think he might like me back?”

“What’s not to like?”

“Thanks, man.”

“Anytime,” Scott says, resuming the game only to get bitten in the face. “Aw, fuck.”

“Let’s play something else,” Stiles suggests, hopping off of the bed and padding over to his bookshelf. “I’ll pick a new game while you come up with ways for me to tell Derek I’ve been crushing on him in a way that doesn’t involve a note saying, _Do you like me? Check yes or no._ ”

***

It takes Stiles three days to figure out how he should tell Derek, and another four days to get up the nerve to actually do it. He’s trying not to analyze it too much, but Stiles is nothing if not overzealous and enthusiastic. It’s not in him to do something halfway, so he figures if he’s going to do this, he might as well go all out. His idea requires a little bit of planning, so he sets out to do that as soon as he gets off of work on Friday.

By the time everything is in place, he’s wondering if maybe he _did_ go a little overboard. He definitely has the tendency to be incredibly cheesy and borderline tacky. But, in for a penny, in for a pound, and all that. Stiles sends the two packages off before he can change his mind and then heads home. What he didn’t account for, however, is the waiting. He didn’t pay for package tracking, because he’s a college student who is also getting paid less than minimum wage, and since when did they start charging for that?

So now he has no idea when or if the packages will arrive, and he’s stuck sitting around, trying to talk himself down from having a minor freak-out. And after over a week of radio silence—during which Stiles has been _very_ patient—he actually begins to second-guess himself in earnest. _Is this whole idea too cheesy? It’s totally lame, isn’t it? What if Derek doesn’t even feel the same way? Is Derek purposefully ignoring me? Why didn’t I just keep things with Derek the way they were? What if I totally ruined things between us?_ It’s become common for them to exchange multiple letters within a week’s time, so he’s starting to think that he really did make a mistake when he doesn’t hear from Derek.

Stiles is so used to putting his foot in his mouth and making a fool of himself that he doesn’t even consider that something else could be going on. So when a package from Derek arrives on his doorstep two weeks later, he makes a silent promise not to ever do something so stupid again if he and Derek can at least stay friends. Lydia managed to overlook Stiles’ pathetic obsession for over a decade; surely Derek can get past it, too? When Stiles actually looks at the package though, it reminds him of the one he’d received when Derek was in Ethiopia—worn, covered in stamps, and looking like it’s travelled halfway across the world.

His suspicions are proven true when he opens the rather cumbersome box and reads the note sitting on top.

_Hey, I’m sorry I haven’t written you in a couple weeks. I got called out on a last-minute assignment to Egypt, and I didn’t get a chance to tell you before I left. But wow, Stiles, it’s so incredible here. We’ve already been to the pyramids, and tons of markets, and the entire time I couldn’t help but think about how much you would enjoy all of this. You’d thrive in the culture here, I just know it. Plus, you’d find a lot of interesting people to people-watch! I tried to get you some things you’d like (my guide, Amen, helped me find the best places), so here’s a little piece of Egypt for you. I’ll talk to you again once I’m stateside._

_Wait, so does that mean Derek doesn’t even know that I sent those packages yet?_ Stiles realizes Derek must have left before either of them arrived. He heaves a sigh of relief that Derek wasn’t just completely blowing him off. That would have really sucked. _Really_. But Stiles doesn’t dwell on the relief for too long, his curiosity piqued by whatever lies inside of Derek’s box. It’s heavier than any of the other packages Stiles has received, and was probably expensive to ship overseas.

The first thing he pulls out is a medium-sized golden plate. It’s an elongated oval and has what looks like hieroglyphics on it, but Stiles has no clue what it is. Attached to it is another note from Derek.

_This is called a cartouche. It’s got your name written on it in hieroglyphs (you should have seen the guy’s face when I spelled out your name). I know you really like language stuff, so I thought this was neat._

Stunned, Stiles grabs for the next item in the box: a jar of sand and a photo of Derek standing in front of one of the larger pyramids.

_Since you couldn’t walk the pyramids themselves, I figured I’d do it for you. I even made a mummy joke, despite the fact that the humor was lost on my guide. You’d have been proud. Here’s some sand from around the Great Pyramid of Giza. Now you can say you’ve held something from one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. Pretty cool, huh?_

Stiles laughs, because Derek’s right, he _would_ have made a mummy joke. It’s funny how well they know these little things about each other, and Stiles likes that Derek doesn’t make fun of him for being a little quirky. Derek even seems to like it, if his letters are to be believed.

Also in the box is another photograph, although this one is a wide panoramic shot. It’s of a sunrise spanning across the horizon, and Stiles wonders if Derek is able to travel anywhere without finding a sunrise or sunset to capture with his camera.

_This is from my quick trip out to Mount Sinai. In order to watch the sunrise, me and my guide had to head up the mountain in the middle of the night. We took the camel path, because the climb is not as steep there, and it still took us about three hours to make it to the top with all of my gear. But, Stiles, it was so worth it to capture the sunrise over the mountain. I wish you could have been there to see it._

The last item in the box is a huge container of what looks to be a mixture of crushed nuts and spices. He smiles, because ever since one letter where he’d mentioned his love of food, Derek has made a point to send Stiles different things to eat in his packages. Stiles opens the lid and the smell that escapes the container is really delicious.

_This lovely concoction is called dukkah, and it’s a classic Egyptian side dish. You’re even getting the real deal, rather than the pre-packaged stuff. Amen’s mother made it just for you (apparently families each have their own special twists on the recipe). Don’t just shove it into your mouth—I know you’ve probably got a finger dipped in there already._

Stiles pulls his finger out of the dukkah with a laugh and licks it clean. It’s so not fair that Derek can predict that.

_To eat it, warm up some olive oil and mix the dukkah in. Then dip pita bread into it. I guarantee you’ll like it._

Stiles goes to do just that, although he has to substitute the pita for sandwich bread. He makes a mental note to buy pita bread the next time he’s at the grocery store, but as he sits back down at his desk surrounded by the gifts Derek sent him, all he can really think about is Derek. Stiles feels incredibly flattered, knowing that Derek went to all this trouble just to find unique gifts that he thought Stiles would like; Derek clearly put effort into putting this together. He’s so happy that Derek would even bother, but he’s also feeling a little overwhelmed. All of this started because he was feeling lonely and decided to sign up on that website. But that was back at the beginning of the year. Now, it’s almost September and it seems like a lifetime has passed since he got that first letter from Derek.

Stiles talks to Derek even more than Scott nowadays, and Scott has been his friend since _childhood_. He hadn’t noticed how close he’d let Derek get to him, and suddenly he’s really glad he sent that package to Derek. As he surveys everything before him, Stiles realizes that it doesn’t matter if Derek’s had received Stiles’ package or not. Because all of this effort shows that Derek really _does_ care, more than anything Derek could actually say with words.

***

“Something smells good,” Derek says, following the tantalizing smell into the kitchen where Laura is stirring a pot over the stove.

“Hey!” Laura says, rushing over and pushing him back out into the hall. “What did I say? Shoo! I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“You aren’t serious,” Derek deadpans, even as he lets her manhandle him out of the kitchen.

“Don’t come back in here until I say so,” she replies, walking back to the stove and turning down the heat on the burner. “Besides, you still need to get dressed.”

Derek shakes his head and heads back to his bedroom, grumbling about weird sisters. Laura has been acting strange all afternoon—she’s actually been different ever since he got back from his trip a few days ago. He can’t pinpoint what exactly it is that’s changed, but she has been decidedly cryptic, that much is certain. He looks at the black dress shirt she set out for him on the bed and rolls his eyes. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she was buttering him up for something she’d gone and done behind his back. Fortunately, he is graced with a terribly forthright sister, who prefers to taunt him by doing things he hates right in front of his face rather than where he can’t see. _Un_ fortunately, that means he really has no idea what is going on with her today.

Deciding to just go with it for now, Derek strips out of his tanktop and pulls on a white undershirt before buttoning up the black shirt. He even tucks it into his dark-wash jeans and adds a belt for good measure. It never hurts to be on Laura’s good side. Then he’s stuck twiddling his thumbs for another twenty minutes before he hears her calling his name from the kitchen.

“Get your ass in here, slow-poke!” she calls as he exits his room.

“Before, you didn’t want me in there, and _now_ you’re complaining about—” Derek cuts off abruptly when he sees the setup on the kitchen table. It doesn’t even look like their table anymore, now that it’s covered with a white tablecloth and set with Laura’s “nice china”. There’s a lit candle in the middle of the table that’s giving off the faint scent of vanilla, but the overpowering aroma of the food on the plates draws Derek closer.

“Laura, what’s going on?” Derek asks slowly, looking over at her for the first time and registering the grin on her face.

She giggles, rather uncharacteristically, and hands him a small box. “I’m supposed to give you this and then make myself scarce,” she says. “So I will see _you_ in an hour when you can tell me all about it.”

“All about what?” Suddenly he’s left standing alone in the middle of the kitchen, even more confused than he was just half an hour ago. Glancing down at the box in his hands, he pulls open the lid and sees a card sitting inside, with a picture of a guy cradling a puppy on the front. Derek picks up the card and realizes it’s thicker than a basic greeting card.

Opening the card, a voice suddenly erupts from inside and Derek snaps it closed, glad Laura isn’t around to seem him jump. In his defense, he hadn’t been expecting someone to start _talking to him_ from the inside of a card. It’s like one of those cards that sing cheesy songs when they’re opened, only with a real person talking instead. Taking a few breaths, he cautiously lifts the front of the card again, prepared when the voice begins to speak.

“So, I bet you’re totally confused now, dude, which I guess is good because it means Laura did her job and kept everything on the down-low. I hope you don’t mind that I enlisted her help for all this; I don’t really have too many contacts in New York! This is Stiles, by the way. I just realized you’ve never heard my voice before. Anyway, uh...so I wanted to do all this for you because I kind of really like you, man. And I’m thinking maybe you might like me, too? I know this is a little unconventional, but I’d like to take you out sometime if you’re interested. So this is me asking you on a pre-date. Think of it like a test run for the real thing when I can actually, you know, _be there_. I even gave you a picture of myself with a puppy! Because who can say no to puppies, right? So...you should totally enjoy this meal that Laura hopefully didn’t burn—Laura, if you’re listening, you’re a goddess for helping out!—and then maybe let me know if you’re interested? If you’re not, feel free to ignore everything and pretend you won a free meal or something, I don’t know. That would be weird. Anyway, enjoy. I’ll talk to you soon, hopefully!”

Derek’s about to shut the card when he hears Stiles’ voice again, a little further off, say, “Oh, shit, how does this thing stop recording?”

The comment sounds so much like something Stiles would say that Derek laughs, and it breaks the tension that had been building in him ever since he first opened the card. He moves over to sit down at the table and listens to the entire recording again while he surveys the spread before him. It’s nothing too intricate; what smells like some kind of lemon pasta, along with garlic bread and a bottle of cheap wine. But when Derek finally ventures to take a bite, he has to hold back a moan at the burst of flavors on his tongue. He’ll have to remember to thank Laura later.

Derek spends the next thirty minutes alternating between listening to the warm tones of Stiles’ voice as he eats and looking at the picture of Stiles on the front of the card. It’s still not a full-frontal shot, but Derek is happy to be able to see more than just the veins of Stiles’ eye. He also sometimes forgets that Stiles is about four years younger than him, but the picture clearly depicts a guy who’s hardly out of his teen years. Still, putting a face to Stiles’ name is nice, and he has to admit that he likes what he sees when he finds himself staring too long at the photograph.

Taking in the setup in front of him once again, Derek can’t believe that Stiles went to all of this trouble for _him_. It’s unexpected, and more than a little strange, but the sentiment is there. Laura’s sketchy behavior this week definitely makes much more sense, and Derek can’t stop smiling. Not once did he think that Stiles was interested in a relationship with him beyond that of a friend, but everything before him right now proves that to be very wrong. Stiles is _definitely_ interested, there’s no doubt about that, and Derek feels a foreign sense of happiness swell in his chest like nothing he’s ever felt before. He can’t remember anyone ever going out of their way to woo him like this—because that’s what this is, right? It feels like wooing—and he honestly really likes it. Sure, it’s different, especially considering they haven’t even _met_ each other, but they’ve kind of been doing things backwards from the start. It’s actually rather fitting.

As he eats, Derek wonders what a real date with Stiles would be like. Stiles _had_ said this was a test run after all. He’s sure there would be a lot of talking, if the overabundance of information in Stiles’ letters is any indication. They certainly wouldn’t be in any danger of running out of things to talk about. He can imagine them sitting in a restaurant, long after they’ve finished eating, talking about the most mundane things and simply enjoying each other’s company. Stiles doesn’t seem like the restaurant type though, despite all of this fancy food. Maybe Derek would take him to the street markets where food is made fresh right before his eyes, or they could try out all of the local burger joints and decide which ones make the best fries.

Derek realizes he _wants_ to find out these things, to try them out with Stiles, and he gets so caught up in thinking about all of the possibilities that he doesn’t notice Laura coming back into the kitchen until she’s standing right next to him.

“Enjoy your date?” Laura asks, a little smirk curled on her lips.

Derek pinches her side lightly, but doesn’t mask his smile. “Thanks for putting this together, Laura.”

“Don’t go getting all sappy on me,” she says. “But I do have one final thing for you.”

There’s more?” Derek asks eagerly.

“Only if you want the real deal,” she amends. “Which I’m thinking you do.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I really do.”

Laura pulls an envelope from behind her back with a flourish, holding it out to him. “Then I present you with your final surprise for the night, dear brother. Go forth and enjoy the spoils.”

“Let me help clean up here first,” he starts, but Laura cuts him off.

“Just _go_ already,” she huffs fondly, shoving Stiles’ card in his hands with the envelope and ushering him into the direction of his room. “If you want to make it up to me you can do my laundry next week.”

Derek really does want to see what’s inside the envelope, so he doesn’t put up a fight. Sending Laura a grateful smile, he hurries away, stripping off the black dress shirt as he goes to get more comfortable. Once he’s settled in his room, Derek opens the envelope eagerly and pulls out a sheet of paper with familiar handwriting on it.

_If you’re reading this, you must’ve told Laura yes. Thank fuck, because I’m probably about to have an anxiety attack right about now, wondering if you liked it or not. You should maybe put me out of my misery, dude. It’s only decent._

The rest of the page is blank, apart from a phone number scrawled on a line halfway down the page. Derek freezes for a moment, feeling his heart rate speed up as he stares at the number and wonders if it’s really what he thinks it is. He’s been thrown so many curveballs tonight, the whole thing was bound to come to a head at some point. Sure, a fake date is one thing, but a phone number? That’s about as real as it gets. Their letters, while having grown pretty personal over the months, have still always had that slight level of anonymity to them. Stiles has always been someone on the other side of the states, an entire country as a buffer between them. Taking away that barrier seems like a much bigger step all of a sudden. What if this ruins what they have? It’s not like things can go back to what they were after this.

Derek sits there for a few minutes, wondering if he’s ready for this change, when he realizes he’s already holding his cell phone in his hand. Apparently his subconscious doesn’t have the same reservations about making this move. And he _had_ meant it when he told Laura he wanted the real deal. He likes sending letters to Stiles, but talking to each other in real time seems like a natural progression from that. It’s really not so strange when he considers how many months they’ve already been talking to one another.

That decided, Derek makes sure his bedroom door is shut and then carefully dials the number, double checking the digits on the screen before hitting send. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, but the call is picked up before the first ring even ends, leaving Derek no time to really relax.

“Scott, I have nothing else to say, other than the obvious _you fucked up_ and the even more obvious _go grovel at her feet_ ,” Stiles answers immediately, and Derek recognizes Stiles’ voice from the card even if he has no idea what Stiles is talking about. “Now stop calling me and call _her_ instead.”

“Uh...Stiles?” Derek says.

There’s a pause before, “Scott?”

“No,” Derek replies, running a shaky hand through his hair. “It’s...uh, it’s Derek.”

He hears a crash and a loud _oof!_ over the line before Stiles responds. “Oh my—Derek! I wasn’t expecting—”

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Derek asks, finger hovering over the ‘end call’ button. “I can call back.”

“No! _No_ ,” Stiles assures him. “It’s fine. Just...holy shit. I can’t believe I’m actually talking to you.”

Derek chuckles. “That makes two of us.”

“Wow,” Stiles continues. “I mean, I sent that stuff almost a month ago and I wasn’t sure if you’d think it was stupid, it’s not like I have any real experience with dating somebody, okay? Then you didn’t even respond and I thought I’d completely ruined everything until I got that package from you saying you were all the way over in Egypt—fucking _Egypt_ , man! That dukkah your guide’s mom made was awesome, by the way. Am I saying that right? Dukkah? _Doo_ kah? I don’t know, but I had to hide it from my dad because he would have eaten it all before I even finished, and that’s not good for him anyway. But it tasted _so_ good, man. Did you try some of it while you were there?”

Derek chuckles. Being bombarded with Stiles’ chatter in real time is so different from reading it in his letters, and Derek isn’t sure which part to address first. “Yeah, I did. It was really good,” he agrees. “And, speaking of food, that dish you had Laura make for tonight was delicious. I’m pretty sure I ate half the pot of pasta.”

“Oh, you liked it?” Stiles asks. “It’s lemon linguine. It was actually one of my mom’s old recipes; she used to make it all the time when I was little. I remember when she taught me how to zest a lemon, because I thought it was the coolest thing ever that people just _ate_ the lemon skin.”

“It was great,” Derek says. He leans back on his bed, biting his lip against a smile. “Maybe next time you can show me how to make it.”

“I’d like that,” Stiles says, his voice a little softer. “So, uh...does this mean we’re actually gonna go through with this?”

“Yeah. I’d like that,” Derek echoes, openly smiling now.

***

They talk on the phone for a good two hours that evening, and after he hangs up Stiles does the most embarrassing happy dance across his floor, until his dad yells at him to stop jumping around. Because Derek actually _wants_ this. With _Stiles_. He can hardly believe it’s real.

The next day, Stiles wakes up to a text message from Derek that is just a smiley face, but it leaves him grinning all through the day. Not even Mr. Harris’ insanely hard pop quiz can ruin his good mood.

At first, Stiles isn't sure when it’s okay to call Derek, but they soon work out a kind of schedule between Stiles’ classes and both of their jobs. He still isn't over the novelty of being able to talk to Derek anytime he wants, and he gets giddy every time Derek's name shows up on his caller ID.

"Hey," he answers one day a week later, when his phone rings just as he's letting himself into his house.

"Why do you sound like you're out of breath?" Derek asks.

“Because I _am_ ,” Stiles says, shutting the door behind him and then leaning against it. “Scott wants to train for a 5k, and while I’m all about being healthy and whatever—okay, I’m so not, actually. My body was made to sit on a throne of junk food and video games. But, anyway, he wants us to do it _together_ , even though we don’t even live near each other...I don’t know. He made it sound like a good idea when he was tricking me into doing it with him.”

Derek laughs, and the warm sound travels over the phone line. “Running won’t kill you, Stiles. I can give you some stretches to do before you run so your muscles aren’t as sore afterwards.”

“Traitor,” Stiles says. He heads up to his bedroom, stripping off his sweaty t-shirt and shorts as he goes, then flops down onto his bed in just his compression shorts. Showering is for losers, he decides. He doesn’t think he could manage to stay upright long enough to take one anyway. “I found this app for my phone called _Zombies, Run!_ to try and motivate me while I run. Nothing like having a horde of zombies chasing you to liven up your training, right?”

“Whatever works for you,” Derek says amiably. “I’m sure Scott will give up on the 5k thing in a couple weeks anyway. Didn’t you say he has asthma?”

“I’m _betting_ on him giving this up, dude. I don’t think I could keep up for much longer than that.”

“You make exercising sound like torture.”

“Because it _is_ ,” Stiles insists. “Just because _you_ have some weird obsession with the gym—”

“I’m not _obsessed_ ,” Derek cuts in.

“You are. And when you get staph or something equally disgusting from one of those sweaty, public bench presses, I’m going to laugh in your face.”

“That’s disgusting, Stiles.”

“Exactly.”

Stiles can hear Derek chuckle and is glad Derek finds him funny. It’s so nice to talk to someone who doesn’t roll their eyes at everything he says. Derek genuinely enjoys talking to him, he’s not just giving Stiles pity laughs to shut him up. Stiles had been anxious when they’d first begun talking on the phone, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Because it couldn’t be this easy, right? Things like this didn’t happen in real life; meeting someone online was for the movies. But suddenly Stiles finds himself semi-dating Derek in this weird pseudo romance thing they’ve got going.

And it’s _good_.

It’s so good. He’s happier than he’s ever been, and he knows that Derek is just as invested in this as he is. Stiles likes that he has someone else in his life to care about. For so many years it's been just him and his dad. Scott is like a brother to him, but it's not the same. And he knows that getting so involved this fast can be a mistake. He's played devil's advocate with himself often enough to know how much all of this could blow up in his face and leave him more devastated than it should. But with Derek, it seems like so long ago that they met and started this whole journey. He's not sure he could walk away from it right now even if he tried.

"Stiles? You still there?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, clearing his throat. "I'm here. Just thinking."

"About what?" It's clear from Derek's tone that _just thinking_ doesn't sound like a good thing.

"About us. How we met," Stiles elaborates. He rolls over to his side, staring out the window of his bedroom. "You ever wonder how all of this came together?"

"All the time," Derek admits.

“And?”

“And what?” Derek asks. “Sometimes I wonder that you ever wrote me back after that first terrible attempt at socializing. Then I wonder how we managed to find so much to talk about when everything I read said that pen pals don’t typically last more than a couple months.”

“You researched pen pals?” Stiles asks, laughing.

“Of course I did,” Derek says, sounding embarrassed. “I wasn’t going to blindly trust something Laura recommended to me without checking it out first.”

“Good point.”

“But somehow all of that turned into us having this, whatever _this_ even is, and I can’t say I regret any of it.”

Stiles doesn’t regret any of it either, and hearing those words out of Derek’s mouth soothe any reservations he might have had about this entire arrangement. “I’m glad you wrote that first letter,” he says finally.

“Me, too,” Derek replies.

***

Stiles is just getting into his Jeep after school when his phone starts buzzing. Derek’s name lights up across the screen and Stiles smiles as he answers the phone.

“Hey, Derek.”

“What’s a good birthday present for someone who hates having _stuff_?”

“Why, I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Stiles teases. He puts his phone on speaker and sets it on the dashboard before starting the engine. “And how are you?”

Derek sighs over the line. “Hi, Stiles.”

“I’ll make a gentleman out of you yet!” Stiles laughs. “So what’s this about a birthday present?”

He listens attentively to Derek as he laments the fact that Laura doesn’t care for knick knacks, reading, makeup, jewelry, or anything else under the sun, apparently. Stiles is just turning onto the highway when Derek once again asks him for ideas.

“I don’t know, man,” Stiles says. “I’ve never had any siblings. I used to make my mom those little coupon books though. You could do something like that.”

“Coupon books?” Derek asks.

“Yeah, you know, like a coupon for doing something? You make little pages that say _One free day of laundry_ or _15 minute shoulder massage_ , stuff like that. And then she can use it whenever she wants and you have to do what’s on the coupon.”

“I’m not very good at making stuff,” Derek says slowly, though it sounds like he’s considering it.

“Dude, type it up, print it on some pink paper, and you’re golden. Nothing fancy.”

“Maybe.”

“She’s your sister. I doubt she’ll mind either way. Besides,” Stiles says, “you got any better ideas?”

Derek chuckles. “Not really.”

“There you go, then.” Stiles brakes sharply when the jerk in front of him decides not to use his turn signal and has to grab at his phone before it goes flying off the dashboard. “So, you going to tell me about your day now?”

“Not much to tell.”

“Sounds exciting,” Stiles deadpans.

“You’d love the place I had lunch at today though,” Derek adds. “Best curly fries I’ve ever tasted. It was greasy, fried perfection.”

Stiles smiles, sitting back in his seat and moaning deeply, “ _Oh_ , Derek, I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

“ _Stiles_.”

He can hear Derek fumbling with the phone and holds back a laugh before letting out an even louder moan. “Mm, tell me _more_!”

“Fuck,” Derek hisses. “Aren’t you at school?”

Stiles shakes his head, “I’m driving home. It’s just us, baby.” He tries to keep going but melts into laughter instead. “I can’t keep a straight face,” he says, still giggling. When Derek doesn’t respond, Stiles asks, “Derek?”

“I’m here,” Derek grunts.

“Are you blushing?” Stiles teases as he merges into the right lane. “Aw, dude, you’re totally blushing, aren’t you?”

“Shutup.”

“I bet you’re cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Fine,” Stiles relents. “But you started it when you brought up curly fries. You know those are my weakness.”

“Duly noted.”

“I’m actually almost home,” Stiles says, turning onto his street. “Can I call you back in a few?”

“Sure. I need to get Laura’s present started anyway.”

Stiles grins at that. “Alright, see ya.”

“Bye, Stiles.”

***

Derek is walking down the hall of his office building, when he hears his name being called. He turns to look and it’s Isaac Lahey, one of the freelance journalists that holes up in the cubicles on this floor. Everyone here works through individual agreements with various publishers, but at least they have that one thing in common. Independent contracts can be a bitch, especially when work is scarce, so sometimes it’s nice to see a bunch of people in the same boat of self-employment.

“Hey, Isaac,” Derek greets, shuffling around his armful of supplies to free a hand and shake Isaac’s outstretched one. He’s on his way to the darkroom on level four, since that one is almost always blessedly empty. A few recent commissions have put him behind in developing the last set of his photographs from Egypt, and he needs to get the final proofs he wants over to the editors by the end of the week.

“What’s up with you lately?” Isaac ask, his familiar amiable smile in place. “Haven’t seen you around the office as much. I was beginning to think you ditched us to go corporate or something.”

Derek chuckles, looking at the floor to hide his shy smile. Laura had said as much to him just last night over dinner, although she knows the real reason for his distraction. Ever since he and Stiles have begun talking on the phone, working late has become less and less of a priority. His job used to be all he focused on, but now that he has something else to look forward to at the end of the day, he isn’t pushing himself to be at the office twenty-four seven.

“Yeah, I guess I’ve been a bit preoccupied,” Derek admits sheepishly.

Isaac punches his shoulder lightly, jostling Derek’s handle on the supplies he’s holding. “Well, good for you, man. Not all of us should be locked away in this dungeon.”

Derek nods agreeably, but can’t think of anything else to say. He’s never really been one for small talk, and he hates this part of a conversation when the niceties have been addressed and all that’s left is awkward silence. The lull in their exchange feels smothering and Derek is about to retreat down the hallway when Isaac speaks up again.

“So, I was hoping to run something by you,” Isaac says. He actually looks kind of nervous, which is a far cry from his usual good humor.

“You were?” Derek prompts.

“I saw your feature on Mongolian shamans last year, and some of your more recent projects, too. They were really fantastic.”

“Thanks.” A blush heats Derek’s cheeks and he ducks his head again to hide it. He knows he’s good at what he does, but he’s never been all that great with taking compliments.

“Anyway,” Isaac continues, “I’ve been asked to write a research piece, but the articles have to be paired with a photography series, and I was wondering if you’d be interested.”

With that, all thoughts of embarrassment flee Derek’s mind. Work talk he can handle; he knows photography. Derek silently considers what another project would entail—he’s already got an upcoming trip to Greece in just a few weeks, and he normally likes to space out his big trips to leave time for editing and smaller commissions. But he’s also read Isaac’s work, and it’s really good; plus, the idea of partnering up for a project is definitely appealing.

“Do you have a contract already?” Derek asks.

“Uh, kind of? You know my friend, Erica Reyes? She was supposed to be working on NatGeo’s April feature for next year, but some stuff came up...anyway, she’s got an in with one of the editors there and practically shoved my work into their faces and begged them to take me on for this piece.”

It takes a second for Derek’s brain to catch up, but then he blurts, “You got signed with _NatGeo_?” National Geographic is notoriously hard to get into. Photojournalists, and _especially_ writers, have to have been in the field for _years_ with a ton of prior experience before even being considered, let alone published in their magazine. It’s a very competitive field and to get picked up by them is incredibly rare.

“Just for this one feature,” Isaac says quickly, as though Derek just saying that might jinx the entire thing. “But I’m not technically signed on yet. The problem is that Erica’s photographer, Boyd, works exclusively with her—they’ve got some kind of arrangement, I can’t even begin to understand it. _Anyway_ , if I don’t find someone with a decent photography background to pitch this with me, I’m gonna get dropped next week for some seasoned old writer who’s got his shit together.”

And _wow_. If someone had told Derek this morning that he’d have a chance to pitch a project to National Geographic, he’d have laughed in their face. But this is really happening. Now that Isaac has planted the seed, Derek can’t think of anything better than a project like this.

“I’m in,” Derek says, after only a few seconds of deliberation. “Just let me set this stuff down and we can iron out the details in the conference room.”

Isaac immediately rushes him, hugging both him and his gear. “Derek, you’re a lifesaver! I owe you one.”

***

Stiles does not think his day could drag on any longer. Class this morning had gone on forever, as it always seems to in the middle of a semester. He’s finishing his neverending senior year and finally feels content with his major in anthropology. Last semester he added a minor in world languages and cultures; the decision has made his college journey clearer and yet infinitely more difficult with an extra semester of classes before he could graduate. The disciplines marry all of his interests rather well, and he’s happy with his choice, but it’s hard to be happy sometimes when faced with endless assignments.

And now his shift at the station is so dull that he is reduced to sorting files. Well, not _reduced_ exactly—more like he had gotten so fidgety in the empty station that his dad had banished him to the filing room. So he is currently toeing the line between filing old reports and shamelessly snooping.

It’s a hard life he lives.

The buzzing of his phone in his pocket startles Stiles so much that he inhales what feels like a mountain of dust, and he has to hold his breath to keep from sneezing. After the minor crisis is averted, he pulls out his cell phone to see a text from Derek light up the screen.

_I have some news. You still at work?_

After a glance to make sure the door to the filing room is still shut, Stiles clicks through to his recent calls and presses on Derek’s name. He then cradles the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he resumes sorting.

Derek picks up on the third ring. “Stiles?”

“Hey, I’m still at the station, but I’ve been sequestered in the filing room for the foreseeable future.”

He can hear Derek laughing. “And why is that?”

“Dad mentioned something about being a nuisance, but that can’t be right,” Stiles jokes. He lifts up another dusty box onto the table, pulling off the lid and tossing it to the side. “So, what’s the big news?”

“It’s not really big news, Stiles—”

“Oh, come on, dude,” Stiles interrupts with a laugh. “Your _not big news_ is everyone else’s major headline, so spill. What’s the _not big news but still big news_?”

“I’ve mentioned Isaac to you before, right?”

Stiles thinks for a moment, pausing in his sorting. “The guy from work who smiles too much?”

“I never said _that_ ,” Derek says.

“You totally did. You also said he dresses like a hipster and owns more scarves than Laura does. Not that Laura seems like much of a scarf-wearing kinda girl, but still. The guy obviously likes his accessories, or so you say.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Derek huffs, though Stiles can practically hear him fighting back a smile, “I was talking with him today and he asked if I’d be willing to work with him on a joint project.”

“And that’s good...right?” Stiles asks. It sounds like Derek is leaving something out.

“The project is for National Geographic,” Derek adds, after another slight pause.

“What?!” Stiles cries out in excitement, then lowers his voice as he glances over at the shut door. “Are you shitting me right now? That’s _huge_ , Derek! Are you freaking out? Because I’m freaking out and it’s not even my job.”

“Chill out, Stiles,” Derek says gently, but there is definitely a note of excitement in his voice. “It’s not set in stone yet. We’ve still got to pitch our idea to the editors and see if they’ll take us on for this feature.”

“Derek, you know you guys are going to _kill it_ ,” Stiles insists, dropping all pretenses of even continuing to work. He stands up to pace around the small room, trying not to bounce in place. “Your photography is awesome, they’d be idiots not to hire you!”

‘Well...thanks for the vote of confidence,” Derek says bashfully, “but I don’t want to get too ahead of myself.”

“Fine,” Stiles agrees. “Then I’ll just be excited for you. Because you are going to give a pitch to _National fucking Geographic_.” He pauses, then asks, “Do you know what you’ll be working on yet?”

“The feature is called Habitats and Homes, and focuses on the dwellings of people across the globe. Me and Isaac are thinking about doing a piece on Palestinian cave dwellers.”

“You mean people still do that?”

“Most people nowadays just use caves as place of refuge, but yes, there are still groups of people who live primarily in caves.”

Stiles laughs. “Dude, you’re going to talk to a real caveman!”

“ _Stiles_.”

“What?” Stiles teases. “You’re the one who thinks grunts still serve as an acceptable form of communication.”

“I do not,” Derek argues petulantly. Stiles can hear the _harrumph_ in the background and can’t help but chuckle.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Don’t you have work to be doing?” Derek deflects.

“Eh.” Stiles shrugs noncommittally, then realizes Derek can’t see him. “I’m supposed to be off in twenty minutes anyway. It’s not like these files are going anywhere.”

“I’ll talk to you in twenty minutes then.”

Stiles sighs dramatically. “I hate when you have a conscience.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek says, and Stiles _knows_ Derek’s grinning this time. “Bye, Stiles.”

“Okay, _bye_.”

***

Derek grumbles when his phone starts ringing, and he glances around the store guiltily before pulling it out to answer.

“I’ll be home soon,” Derek lies.

“Uh...okay?”

“Stiles?” Stiles’ laughter carries over the phone and Derek lets out a sigh of relief.

“I’m guessing you were expecting someone else?” Stiles asks.

Derek pushes his shopping cart out of the way so people can get past him, then leans his elbows on the handlebar. “I thought you were Laura.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“Well…” Derek’s been at Walmart for the past hour, getting groceries for the next couple of weeks. He’d actually been on his way to checkout when he walked by the electronics section, and by that point the movies were practically calling out his name. Laura always makes fun of his taste in entertainment, which is why he pretty much never buys anything when she’s around. They might be in their mid-twenties, but they still act like teenagers sometimes.

So he was just taking the opportunity to indulge in a guilty pleasure and peruse the five dollar movie bin, even though what he really loves are shitty films that you usually can’t find in the store.

He regrets telling Stiles as soon as he hears the laughter.

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles cries out gleefully. “You secretly love B movies?”

Derek closes his eyes, wondering why he puts up with this madness. “I’m going to hang up now.”

“No, no, wait!” Stiles pleads, still giggling childishly. “Tell me some of your favorites.”

“Are you going to laugh?” Derek asks.

“Probably,” Stiles admits.

Well. At least he’s honest.

Derek spends the next half hour wandering aimlessly around the store while ranting about the finer points of _Troll 2_ : “There aren’t any actual trolls in the movie, and it’s not even a sequel really, which makes it even better.”; _Samurai Cop_ : “So ridiculous that it’s hilarious. The script is so amazingly shitty that you can’t help but quote it, and the unnecessary violence against inanimate objects is terrible in the best way.”; and _Thankskilling_ : “You go in with low expectations, and it doesn’t even meet those. I kid you not, it’s a holiday classic.”

Stiles does laugh, but he actually laughs more at Derek’s jokes than at Derek himself. It leaves Derek with a warm feeling in his chest and when he gets home three hours after he’d left and Laura sends him a knowing look, he doesn’t even mind.

***

Stiles is doodling in class about a week later when he feels his phone buzz with a text, and it’s perfect timing. Even though he’s sent Derek his class schedule, it’s like Derek innately knows when Stiles is slowly losing his mind. He pulls his phone out of his pocket surreptitiously, trying to be discreet as he glances at it from under his desk.

Derek’s text simply reads, _Hey_ , and Stiles grins. A one-word text means Derek’s probably at work right now. Stiles feels rather rebellious as he types out a reply while the professor’s back is turned.

_Remind me why I decided to take honors courses again? This workload is a nightmare._

“Alright, ladies and gents. Clear your desks. We’re gonna have a pop quiz!” Professor Carmichael says, cutting off Stiles’ text conversation before it really begins.

The class groans accordingly, and Stiles is silently glad that he decided to read ahead last night rather than cram his reading assignment in ten minutes before class. His professor’s version of a “pop quiz” turns out to be relatively easy—with multiple choice questions that sometimes have ridiculous answers like _Axl Rose_ and _Barbara Walters_ that can be immediately ruled out by anyone who hasn’t been living under a rock their entire life—but it’s still a good thirty minutes before everyone’s made it through and the professor dismisses them. Stiles checks his phone as he’s walking back to his Jeep and smiles when he sees Derek’s reply.

_Because you’re incredibly intelligent and will only use your superpowers for good._

_I still need a disguise if I’m gonna go off and save the world_ , Stiles types back.

He drives home, since class let out early and he doesn’t have to work today. The driveway is empty when he gets there, so his dad must have already gone on shift. A note on the fridge from his dad confirms his thought, the sloppy handwriting telling Stiles that he’s working a double and won’t be home tonight. Stiles sighs and resigns himself to a night of homework and binge eating. He can only pull out the junk food when his dad’s not home, so his hiding place isn’t discovered; it’s one of the few perks of being stuck alone so often. His phone buzzes from an incoming text as Stiles is considering watching a movie on Netflix.

 _No capes_ , it reads, and a bubble of laughter escapes from Stiles.

 _No capes_ , he agrees, running with that idea and queuing up _The Incredibles_ on his laptop and then propping his textbook in his lap. _So when is your National Geographic thing?_

_We’re supposed to present to the board on Friday._

_You guys ready?_ Stiles asks, then focuses back on his reading. He’s almost done with the chapter before Derek replies again.

_Is anyone ever ready for NatGeo?_

Derek doesn’t mention it, but Stiles knows he’s nervous as hell about the whole thing. He wishes he could offer Derek more than just platitudes and encouraging words. As it is, he still tells him, _You’ll knock their socks off_ , and means every word.

***

Derek and Isaac _do_ wind up getting signed for the National Geographic feature, but Derek doesn’t have much time to celebrate the contract, because he flies out to Greece just over a week later. It’s a straightforward job this time, since this travel magazine wants a basic tourist coverage. Derek doesn’t take jobs like this often, because they tend to be more tedious and a lot less meaningful (in addition to the pay being terrible), but he’d been sought out for this one and decided to take it since he’d never been to Greece before.

When covering tourist spots, it’s incredibly time-consuming. Derek has to scope out each site beforehand to find the most eye-catching aspects of each one, then figure out a way to make it look appealing without showing how overrun with tourists it really is. People like to see places that look important, because the idea is to convince them that they are missing out by not being there. But if the picture looks too crowded or full of tourists just like them, it will seem like the place isn’t unique and special. The line between both is a fine one, and it makes Derek’s job infinitely more difficult.

He does, however, get to experience the country like any ordinary traveler would, which is something he doesn’t have the opportunity to do too often. In fact, he tends to travel to more out-of-the-way places and sites when on a job, so this is a novelty. While standing in line for one of the local outlooks, Derek can’t help but think of Stiles’ parting remarks while he peruses the tourists around him.

_Try not to make fun of the little people too much, Derek. They can’t help it if their disposable cameras don’t come with a zoom lens._

The thought makes him laugh, and he suddenly has a longing to talk with Stiles again. It’s a thought he’s had a lot over the week or so he’s been away, whenever he sees something funny or a person catches his eye. He knows if Stiles were here, he’d make jokes about all the tourists and probably feel the need to touch everything in sight. It’s hard not to be able to shoot off a text to Stiles, or call whenever he feels the urge to chat, but the bills for international calls are too expensive to justify needless small talk.

Nevertheless, as Derek photographs more and more things to show Stiles once he gets home, he can’t help but wish there weren’t an entire world between them right now.

***

“Hello?” Stiles asks blearily after answering the phone going off on his nightstand.

“Hey, Stiles.”

“Derek? What’s going on?” Stiles sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as his brain tries to catch up. He’s never been much of a morning person, and his alarm clock is taunting him with the digital _6:59 AM_. Normally, he sleeps until at least nine on Saturdays.

“Nothing. I’m sorry for calling so early,” Derek says quietly after a moment of silence. “I’ll just email you later.”

“No, wait!” Stiles says quickly, before Derek can hang up. “It’s okay. We can talk.” He’s not sure why Derek’s calling him; they’d agreed to just email while Derek was on his trip, to save on international fees. They’ve been managing pretty well for the past week and a half, but Derek sounds strangely vulnerable right now, and Stiles isn’t sure what’s going on. He runs a hand through his bed-head before venturing, “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “Yeah, everything’s fine, I just…”

Stiles waits patiently for Derek to continue, even though he’s practically itching to ask questions.

“I missed you,” Derek finally says, his voice hesitant. “I wanted to hear your voice.”

And, wow, that’s not what Stiles was expecting him to say. Before he can reply, Derek barrels on.

“It’s just—I’m sitting here waiting for the sun to set,” Derek explains. “It’s beautiful, and I love sunsets, but...I wish you were here to see it, too.”

Stiles exhales slowly. They’ve mentioned it a few times in passing, when they’re on the phone with one another or even in a few of their letters and texts—one of them will express how they wish they were both together. But it’s never felt like it does just now, like an actual loss. Stiles can sense how lonely Derek is, and he actually feels like he’s missing out on something important. The quiet desperation in Derek’s voice says he feels it, too.

“Are you near your laptop?” Stiles asks. “I mean, like wifi and everything?”

“Yeah...” Derek says slowly. “It’s in my bag. I’ve got my travel wifi, but what—?”

Stiles cuts him off. “We should Skype,” he says, already pushing off his bed and going over to his desk to turn on his computer. They’ve talked about it once or twice, but both of them have seemed hesitant to take that step. Just now though, craving the company of one another, it feels right. Stiles wants to see Derek’s face, to experience what he’s experiencing right now, even halfway across the world.

“I—okay, yeah,” Derek agrees. “Just give me a minute.”

Stiles can hear Derek rustling through his bag and is surprised by how calm he feels. He expected that if they were ever to Skype, he’d feel some kind of nerves right before. After all, Skyping is even more personal than a phone call. But despite this being the first time, it feels natural and kind of special in the early-morning quiet.

“What’s your screen name?” Derek asks.

Stiles logs on to his Skype account, typing in _capedcrusader09_ as he relays it to Derek.

Derek chuckles. “Batman?”

“Who else?” Stiles grins. A request from _d.hale_ pops up on his screen almost immediately and Stiles quickly accepts. “Alright, I’m going to hang up now.”

“See you soon,” Derek replies before ending the call.

Stiles wiggles a little in his seat, humming happily to himself, and only has to wait another thirty seconds before Derek’s Skype call comes through. He answers after the first ring, letting out a very unmanly shriek when he sees his video feed on the screen. He’d given no thought to how he’d look after just rolling out of bed, but he certainly wasn’t planning on presenting himself to Derek as a shirtless freak with bags under his eyes and hair defying the forces of gravity.

“I, uh...I just woke up,” Stiles explains, when Derek’s (unfairly _perfect_ ) face appears on his screen, smiling softly. Thankfully, Stiles can kind of ignore his own little face in the bottom corner of the call.

Derek doesn’t respond for a moment, openly raking his eyes down Stiles’ body while Stiles tries to smooth his hair down into some semblance of normalcy. “You look great,” he says, and Stiles _knows_ it’s not true, but a blush blossoms across his cheeks from the compliment anyway.

“So do you,” Stiles replies. And _that_ , he thinks, is an actual fact. Derek doesn’t look like he has in some of the pictures from his other trips. He’s actually clean, first of all, and he’s dressed in a grey henley that rather generously displays his figure. The beard Stiles has seen before is gone in place of some light scruff, and Stiles can’t help but think that the slightly pixelated Skype connection doesn’t do the color of Derek’s eyes justice.

“So, where are you, exactly?” Stiles asks, after they’ve looked their fill at one another. It’s not quite dark yet, but the light is fading enough behind Derek that it casts the angles of his face into sharp relief.

“I’m staying with a family in Crete right now,” Derek says, scratching his jaw absently. “But I think I’ll be moving on to Santorini tomorrow or the day after, depending on the transportation schedules.”

“How much longer do you think you’ll be there?”

Derek sighs. “At least another week.”

Stiles can see the weariness on Derek’s face, and he feels for him. He knows Derek loves his job, but the frequent travel has got to be tiring. “Well,” Stiles says brightly, “at least this is your last big trip of the year. You don’t have another one until your thing with Isaac.”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees. “It’ll be nice to stay in the states for awhile.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes after that, watching one another. It’s comfortable, and not at all strange, like this is something they’ve been building up to for a long time. Stiles’ phone beeps from a text alert, and the sound jolts them both out of their reverie. Stiles doesn’t bother to check it though, not wanting to take his eyes off of Derek, even for a second.

Derek glances off into the distance, then looks back at Stiles with a joyful gleam in his eye. “Stiles, have you ever seen the sun set in Greece?”

“You know,” Stiles says, holding back a grin, “I can’t say that I have.”

“Want to watch it with me?”

“I’d love to.”

The camera feed shakes as Derek lifts his laptop, and there’s a small clatter when he sets it back down, but Stiles hardly registers that. Derek’s laptop is now aimed directly at the horizon, and it’s hard to explain how a sunset can look so much better when not frozen in a picture, but there’s something magical about watching it in action.

The view itself is captivating, as Derek is obviously perched high up on some kind of hill or cliff. The rocks and stone houses that descend below are washed in a soft, orange light, both from the sun and its stunning reflection in the clear sea below. There are almost full layers of color stretched across the horizon as the sun slowly sinks down, from the warm blue of the sea, to the pink, orange, and yellow stripes just above it. The sky itself is full of long arms of clouds reaching towards the setting sun, colored their own shades of pinks and purples.

All Stiles can think is that Derek’s description of the sunsets across the world was spot on—the view is simply _breathtaking_. When, only a few minutes later, the sun gently sinks out of sight, Stiles is still engrossed, staring out at the horizon. The camera slowly turns until the shadows of Derek’s face are visible.

“Pretty incredible, huh?”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees breathlessly, though he’s not sure if he’s referring to the sunset or Derek.

Derek clears his throat, glancing down at his lap. “Thanks for this. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

Stiles smiles and leans forward towards his laptop. “I’m glad you did.”

“I should probably head back,” Derek says, though he looks like that’s the last thing he wants to do right now. “My hosts are making me dinner.”

“Go on then,” Stiles agrees. “Enjoy your time there. We can talk again later.”

“Alright. Have a good day at work, Stiles.”

“I will. See you, Derek.”

***

Their usual routines continue on after Derek gets back home. Derek goes to work, and Stiles pretends to focus at his own job. Stiles goes to school while Derek laments over the fact that they live on opposite ends of the country. They hang out with their families, texting and calling each other, sometimes just to say hello, only now with the added benefit of Skype in the mix.

It’s on one such Skype call, when they’re both not doing much more than staring at each other, that Laura bursts into Derek’s room talking a mile a minute.

“I cannot _believe_ how rude people are sometimes! You’d think a simple ‘thank you’ wouldn’t be a chore, but _noooo_ , it’s too easy to be—” Laura pauses in her rant and looks at Derek’s computer, as though just now realizing she’s interrupted something. “Well, hello, there.”

“Uh, you must be Laura?” Stiles says, grinning and waving like a loon.

Derek doesn’t like the sly gleam Laura gets in her eye as she hustles him out of his desk chair and takes the vacated seat. “And _you_ must be Stiles. It’s nice to meet you, _finally_ ,” she says, shooting a look at Derek.

“Dude, are all of you Hales made from some supermodel gene pool?”

Derek facepalms in embarrassment while Laura lets out a full-throated laugh. She points at the computer screen in glee. “Oh, I like him.”

“Yeah, I was afraid of that,” Derek admits.

“Why, Derek!” Stiles cries in mock outrage. “Have you been keeping us _apart_?”

Derek levels a look at the screen, where Stiles is grinning madly and not even bothering to hide how much he’s enjoying Derek’s discomfort.

“Ignore his grumpy face,” Laura advises Stiles. She leans forward on the desk like the two of them are a couple of old woman at brunch, sharing the town gossip. “He only uses it when he’s embarrassed.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stiles replies. “By the way, how did your birthday go? Derek mentioned it awhile back but never gave me an update.”

“I’m leaving,” Derek announces loudly, as the two begin to actually hold a conversation. He’s secretly happy that the two people that mean the most to him are getting along so easily, but there’s no way he’ll admit it now.

Two identical waves bid him farewell as he goes to make a sandwich.

***

“Okay, who’s left?” Professor Rhodes looks around the room. “Stiles and...Heather. You two go ahead and partner up.”

Stiles automatically gathers his stuff and shuffles a few rows over to where Heather is sitting. He plops down unceremoniously in the seat beside her and flashes her a quick grin. She’s the best person he could have asked for as a partner for a group project. Not only does she live in Beacon Hills, so he won’t have to meet up with someone else further away, but he’s known her since they were kids. Their moms were best friends, and Stiles can remember playing with Heather a lot growing up. They even made out a bit in high school, although nothing really came out of that. But he’s glad he at least got partnered with someone he knows.

“So how do you want to do this?” she asks once Professor Rhodes finishes explaining the main criteria for their anthropology project.

“Um, I have to work after class today, but we can meet up anytime after five,” Stiles thinks aloud. “Does that work for you? I’d rather get started on this now since finals are coming up.”

Heather nods along as he speaks. “Yeah, that sounds great. You want to just head over to my house when you finish your shift?”

“Sure,” he says. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way over.”

He doesn’t actually get to her house until almost six o’clock. There had been a large accident just before his shift was about to end, which left him covering the desk for Deputy Graeme while she drove out to assist the other officers on call. Stiles jogs up to Heather’s front door when he finally arrives, knocking three times then stepping back to shove his hands in his pockets.

Heather answers the door a few moments later. “Hey, Stiles! Come on in.”

“Thanks,” he says, walking past her into the front hall. “Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay. I had other things I needed to do anyway.” Heather leads him down the hall and through the kitchen, where her mom is cooking dinner. Before Stiles can do much of anything, he’s enveloped in a warm hug that he belatedly returns.

“Hey, Mrs. Chapman.”

“Stiles, it’s so good to see you,” Mrs. Chapman tells him, pulling back to hold him at arm’s length. “I was just talking to your father the other day and thinking it’s been so long since you’ve been over.”

Stiles blushes, unused to such focused attention. “Yeah,” he agrees, “not since high school, I think.”

“You should come by more often,” Mrs. Chapman says, moving back over to attend to whatever is on the stove. “Will you be staying for dinner?”

“Sure. I’d like that.”

“Come on, Stiles,” Heather says finally, pulling him towards the stairs. “Mom, we’ll be working in my room.”

“Alright, sweetie. Dinner should be ready in about an hour.”

Heather leads them upstairs and into her bedroom, where she’s already got their project assignment and rubrics spread out on the floor. They both sit down across from each other, reading over the assignment.

“So...where do you want to start?” Heather asks.

Stiles skims the requirements. “Well, the paper and reflections we can write on our own after the main stuff is done. So how about we start with the presentation and then make the visuals?”

“That works for me. What do we have to do for it?”

“Uhh...it looks like it’s a photographic study of whatever people group we choose,” Stiles says, holding out the paper between them so she can read along.

_As part of your ethnography project, find one or more formal/informal events that reveal the world views or ideologies within the area you are researching. Find someone from the resource list (or on your own) to take photographs that reveal something about your people group. Discuss the images with the photographer. The visuals should reveal activities, say something about social/cultural life, as well as capture personalities._

“Should we maybe pick a country first?” Heather asks once they finish reading.

“Oh, good point,” Stiles laughs. “Do you have the list?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Let’s see, there’s Argentina, Bahamas, Canada…” She reads on down the list but Stiles cuts her off halfway through.

“Wait, did you say Greece?”

“Uh,” Heather looks back down at the list. “Yeah, it’s on here. Why?”

Stiles’ mind is already taking off with ideas. The project said they could use a photographer of their choosing, and Derek _just_ returned from a trip to Greece. Plus, Stiles has it on good authority that Derek takes plenty of personal photographs in addition to his commissions. How perfect is that?

“My...he—I know a guy,” Stiles finally settles on saying, “a _photographer_ , who just went there. I bet he could help us out.” He doesn’t really know _how_ to describe Derek to other people, because he realizes he’s only ever talked about him with Scott and his dad. They’re more than friends, and they’ve both admitted to liking each other, but does this whole communication thing actually count as being boyfriends? Or even dating? Stiles isn’t really sure.

“You... _know_ a guy,” Heather repeats slyly, clearly having noticed Stiles’ fumble.

“Yeah, we’re, uh...we’re pretty close,” Stiles explains weakly.

“Mhmm.” Heather’s grinning, but she leaves it at that. “Well, I don’t mind doing Greece if your _friend_ agrees to work with us.”

“Cool, I’ll ask him tonight and let you know.”

***

“Isaac, there’s no way we can swing that. Our budget can’t cover it. I’ve already used up all my savings from this year as it is.”

Isaac looks more frustrated than Derek’s ever seen him, and he’s seen Isaac in his manic flurries right before a deadline. Unfortunately, there’s a lot to be frustrated about. They both have a lot riding on this feature, and so far all they’ve been hitting are constant roadblocks and dead ends. Derek usually has this stuff worked out months ahead of time, so to still be planning these things when they leave in a little over four weeks is stressing him out.

It doesn’t help that travel for two is more expensive than what Derek’s used to working with. One of the things people never tell you about this job is how hard it is to do it when you’re not even likely to get paid for your work until months after it’s over. They were lucky to get a small advance to cover part of the airfare and other small expenses. That never would have happened with a lesser-known client. Thankfully, their personal funds are enough to pay for the permits and most of the other things they need. Which, speaking of permits...

“By the way, did you get your work permit sorted out?” Derek asks, looking over at Isaac who’s bent over the desk, shuffling through a ridiculous amount of paperwork.

“Yeah, everything’s squared away. What about you?”

Derek sighs, leaning back in his desk chair and letting it spin a little. “Permits are good, but I’m still waiting on my updated carnet. I knew the passport was going to expire at the end of this year, but I didn’t think it would be a big deal since I had no other jobs planned for out of the country until February.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll be ready in time.”

Derek has to hold back the eye roll at Isaac’s words. It’s been Isaac’s constant mantra ever since they landed this job, but it sounds more like a security blanket than anything he actually believes. Derek’s even starting to wonder if they _will_ have everything ready to go in time. He hates feeling like he’s in limbo, especially when it comes to expenses, which is rather ironic considering his profession. It’s not like this job is the most lucrative. If he weren’t living with Laura, he’d probably be holed up in some run-down place in the Bronx.

“We don’t even have a guide yet, Isaac,” Derek says, unable to completely hide his pessimism.

Isaac stops his shuffling and turns around to lean against the desk. “I thought you talked to what’s-his-name from the travel blog?” Isaac asks, snapping his fingers to try and jog his memory of the guy’s name.

“Who, Chris?” Derek supplies. “No, the guy had nothing. I contacted my friend, Alan, who was there about six months back, but that was only yesterday. Right now, we’re flying blind.”

And that was kind of the worst part. Derek knows his way around foreign countries. He’s been abroad enough to pick up on a good source and an unreliable one. But it’s still incredibly difficult to travel somewhere (especially a place as remote as where they’re headed) without some local help to ease the transition.

All of these little issues seem like they’re just building up on one another, and Derek’s hard put to see anything good about this job right now. He can’t help but wonder if their inexperience is a part of the problem. Sure, Derek’s been doing this for years, but always on a smaller scale. And he knows that Isaac’s in the same boat. Would someone with more expertise be having these complications too, or is it only them? The quality of his work isn’t in question, because Derek knows National Geographic wouldn’t let sub-par photography into their magazine. But what if _he_ is the problem, not his photos?

“Look, why don’t we call it a day?” Isaac suggests. “We can go home, destress, and pick up again tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees. “Might as well.”

Derek packs up his own things and gives Isaac a friendly clap on the shoulder before heading out of the office. He hadn’t realized so much time had passed while they were working, but when he gets outside the sun is already low in the sky and a chill’s formed in the air. Normally he and Stiles talk in the early evening, but maybe Stiles got caught up late at work, too. Thinking of Stiles brings his mood up significantly, and Derek’s already pulling out his phone to call him as he walks towards the subway station. Just as he’s about to dial, he notices a text from Stiles that was sent two hours ago.

_Can’t talk today. School project. Call you tonight?_

Dropping his head back with a groan, Derek huffs and sends back a text in agreement. Stiles can’t help that he’s got schoolwork to do, but Derek still wishes they could talk right now. Anything to forget this day ever happened.

***

Derek’s well on his way to a decent pity party when Laura walks through the door that evening. On top of all of the issues with his and Isaac’s trip, work itself had been an absolute nightmare. Derek’s unhappy with everything he’s looked over from his trip to Greece and none of the prints are turning out the way he wants them to. Stiles having to postpone their usual phone call for a school project was just icing on the proverbial shitty cake. So now Derek is unhappy, mopey, and feeling sorry for himself. He can’t even bring himself to sit up from his slouched position on the couch, despite the fact that he knows he looks like a petulant child.

“What’s eating _you_?” Laura gripes, clearly in a mood herself.

“Nothing,” Derek snaps back, crossing his arms and glaring at the room at large.

“It’s clearly something.” Laura heats up some leftover pizza that Derek saved in the fridge for her, then plops down on the couch beside him.

Derek shoves at her with his elbow. “You’ll get crumbs on the couch.”

“Well, _excuse me_ , mom,” Laura says, ignoring his jab and continuing to eat her pizza.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Laura frowns at him when he glares over at her. “Some of us want to actually remember her. If you don’t like it, feel free to leave.”

Derek’s off the couch and halfway across the room when he changes his mind, charging back over to her. “Why do you always do that? Why do you have to treat it like it’s some kind of _joke_? She’s _dead_ , Laura. There’s nothing funny about it!”

“Maybe I like making jokes!” Laura yells back, tossing her half-eaten pizza aside with a sour look on her face. “What’s so wrong with that, huh? At least I don’t walk around pretending like they never existed, Derek! When’s the last time you even _looked_ at a picture of them?”

Derek runs a hand down his face, unable to meet her eyes. She’s right. He doesn’t keep any pictures of them. One of his conditions for even moving in with Laura years ago had been that she keep all the family photos in her bedroom where he wouldn’t have to see them. But he doesn’t know how to explain it to her. When she looks at those pictures she has memories of the good times, but all Derek can ever see is the blank, glassy eyes of his dead family members staring back at him, mocking him for surviving.

And just like that, the fight leaks out of him.

“You know what? It doesn’t matter,” Derek finally says, defeated. He knows it’s wrong to take out his guilt on Laura. She doesn’t deserve it. At least one of them should have happy memories. He’s not even sure what they’re really arguing about. Just because they both had a bad day doesn’t mean they have to bite each other’s heads off.

“Derek…”

Laura stands up, but Derek shakes his head, grabbing his keys off the counter and walking out of the apartment. He doesn’t know how his day went totally to shit in a matter of minutes, or how one comment escalated so viciously, but he doesn’t _want_ to fight with Laura. He just needs some space to clear his head. The trouble is, Derek realizes after he’s a few blocks away that he doesn’t really have anywhere to go. Spending his days either at work or at the apartment leaves little room for a social life; Derek’s not even sure if he knows of any quiet local places to hang out, and he’s been living here for _years_. The thought makes him feel even more pathetic, and he shoves his hands into his pockets as he scowls down at the dirty sidewalk.

Normally he’d retreat to his bedroom, but he knows Laura will just try to push things if he stays there and he can’t handle that right now. Instead, he settles for walking in the cool night air. Being outside in November in just a sweater isn’t the smartest decision he’s ever made, but at least the cold helps him temper his emotions a little. This day has been more stressful than he’d been prepared to handle, and Derek needs to take a step back for a bit.

Derek groans when his phone starts to ring and for a moment he thinks about ignoring it entirely. But one of their sibling rules is that they _always_ pick up when one of them calls. They’d agreed on it after the accident, ironically enough, to ensure they would always be in touch no matter what. So Derek takes a deep breath that really does nothing to calm him, then digs his cell out of his pocket and answers the call.

“What do you want?”

“Uh...did I call at a bad time?”

 _Stiles_. The last thing on Derek’s mind was their rescheduled phone call, so of course that’s who it is. He grits his teeth. The timing isn’t the best, but Derek could use a distraction right about now. “No, now is fine.”

“You sure?” Stiles asks, and Derek has to bite his tongue to keep back a sharp retort. “You don’t sound fine, Derek.”

Derek sighs. Where to start? Today has been a total mess. “I just got into a fight with Laura,” he finally says.

“Ouch. Wanna talk about it?”

“No,” Derek replies curtly. The last thing he wants to do is rehash that argument or whatever it was. Especially not to Stiles, who has this rose-colored view of Derek’s world. Sometimes Stiles talks like Derek’s life is so perfect and put-together. He can’t help but wonder what Stiles would think if he saw how utterly boring and pathetic his life actually is. Would he still be interested in him _then_?

“Tell me how your project went,” Derek says instead, blatantly changing the subject.

“Oh, it’s awesome!” Stiles replies, and Derek is silently thankful that Stiles is so willing to switch gears. He listens as Stiles babbles on about the class and hums accordingly when Stiles talks about his assigned partner and their shared history.

“...so I told her I would ask you,” Stiles is saying.

Derek stops walking, realizing he had kind of zoned out. “Ask me what?”

“About using your pictures from Greece for our project,” Stiles explains. “I mean, I know you’re not allowed to use the pictures you took for the magazine, but you showed me all those other ones you took and they’d be _perfect_ for this. We’ve got a list of photographers to use, but we can also choose our own and I was telling Heather how awesome your work is—”

“Stiles…”

“Come on, Derek, you know it’s true,” Stiles teases. “Your pictures are incredible.”

Stiles continues to try and cajole him, but all Derek can hear is _how awesome your work is_ playing over and over in his head. Not how awesome _he_ is, but how awesome his photography is. It’s such a stupid thought, he _knows_ it is, but he can’t help it. Stiles is always talking about Derek’s job and all the “cool things” Derek gets to see. Is that all there is to him? A cool story and some pretty pictures? Isaac seems to think so, as does National Geographic. Who’s to say Stiles doesn’t, too? Once Derek thinks it, he can’t make the accusation go away. It’s a downward spiral, wondering if all Stiles really cares about is Derek’s talent. It’s not like he has much else going for him, so what else would Stiles be interested in? Stiles has this elaborate picture of Derek’s exciting life in his mind and it’s nothing like that. _He_ ’s nothing like that.

“...would make our project awesome, because who else has a photographer like _you_?”

“Stiles, _stop_ ,” Derek interrupts harshly.

Stiles cuts off abruptly, and Derek would think he’d hung up except he can hear Stiles breathing over the line.

“Why do you even care?” Derek asks, ignoring the voice in his head telling him to just let it go. Now that he’s on this train of thought, he can’t seem to deviate. “I sent you those pictures from Greece days ago, so just _use them_ if they’re so awesome.”

“Dude, what are you talking about?” Stiles asks, sounding confused. “I don’t want to just _use_ the photos, Derek.”

“Then what do you even want from me?” Derek spits out. “My pictures are ‘ _so incredible_ ,’ remember?”

Stiles doesn’t answer for a moment. “I thought it’d be fun for us to finally have something in common that would give us an excuse to work together. But, look, if it bothers you that much then we can just forget about it.”

Derek feels like an asshole, especially after hearing the hurt in Stiles’ voice. “Stiles, I didn’t—”

“I’ve got a lot of homework,” Stiles interrupts, his voice flat. “I should go.”

Stiles hangs up before he can respond, and Derek kicks the brick wall beside him in frustration. The throbbing in his foot echoes the pain in his chest. _Great_. First he’d been a jerk to Laura, and now he’s starting fights with Stiles and pushing him away. Derek doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, or why he’s suddenly worrying about all of these things, but he knows this mess is his fault.

Everything seems to be, lately, and he’s not really sure how to fix it.

***

“I don’t know, dude! One second I’m talking, and then suddenly he turns into a fire-breathing dragon and starts yelling about all kinds of crazy shit.” Stiles can hear Scott snort over the line. He flops backwards on his bed, letting his phone rest next to his ear and staring up at the ceiling as though it has the answers he’s looking for. “I must’ve said something to set him off.”

“And you thought you’d ask _me_ for some awesome relationship advice?” Scott asks.

He has a point. It’s not like Scott and Allison have the greatest track record with their on-again, off-again mentality. “I figure you’ve fucked up enough for the both of us,” Stiles jokes.

“That’s because I still haven’t figured it out,” Scott confides. “At least you’re not the one in the doghouse every other month. From what you’ve told me, it sounds like Derek was the one being an asshole. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Obviously I did, if he thinks I like him just for his _photographs_. I mean, seriously? He thinks _that’s_ why I’m into him?”

“Well, you _do_ practically write sonnets about all that shit he mails to you,” Scott says.

“Fuck you,” Stiles laughs.

Stiles realizes it probably sounds stupid out loud, but he was getting pretty serious about this. He thought maybe this was his chance, that Derek was _his_. Derek always talks to him on the phone and listens to his rants. He laughs at Stiles’ lame puns and lets him go off on tangents over text. They flirt and they joke around and they can even be serious with each other. Stiles has always kind of hoped that maybe it _wasn’t_ too good to be true. That maybe someday they’d actually meet and it’d be just as great as it is from far away, and they could actually _be_ something. Together.

He doesn’t say any of this though, waiting to hear what Scott has to say.

Scott sighs. “Look, man. If he cares, he’ll make it up to you. If not, then it wasn’t meant to be. You’ve been a little obsessed with all this since the start. Maybe it’s a good thing to take a step back.”

Stiles picks at the sleeve of his hoodie. He hears what Scott’s saying, and it’s true. He’s pretty much gone full-throttle ever since Derek’s first letter arrived in the mail. But he doesn’t _want_ to back off. He wants to dive headfirst into whatever this is. Derek seems worth it. And, sure, it’s not like Stiles has a lot of relationships (or any) to compare this to, but Derek’s the first person Stiles feels willing to take some risks for. It’s kind of scary to think that this could all end over some stupid fight.

“What if I don’t want to?” Stiles whispers.

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that,” Scott says fondly. “At least make him work for it.”

***

Derek winds up spilling everything to Laura two days later, because apparently in addition to not having any common sense, he has no idea how to have an actual relationship. It’s not like he has a ton of options when it comes to people he’s close enough with to confide in. Not to mention, Laura’s boyfriend of two years gives her credence. Derek doesn’t really have much to lose at this point. Except for Stiles.

It always comes back to Stiles.

“An apology would go a long way, Derek,” Laura coaches from the bathroom as she’s getting ready for bed. Her nighttime facial masks may make him cringe, but he can’t really argue with her advice.

“What if he’s still mad?” Derek asks, trying to ignore how much he sounds like a neurotic teenager. He’s closer to thirty than thirteen, yet somehow he missed the stage in life where the secret to relationships was miraculously revealed. He walks over to the bathroom, leaning against the doorjamb and watching Laura in the mirror.

“He probably is.” Laura rolls her toothbrush into the pocket of her cheek, talking around a mouthful of toothpaste. “But you were kind of a douche. He has a right to be upset.”

“And if he doesn’t accept my apology?” Derek persists.

Laura rolls her eyes, bending over to spit in the sink. “He will.”

“How do you know?”

After rinsing her mouth and placing the toothbrush back in its holder, Laura turns to face him, bracing her hands on Derek’s shoulders. “Look. You guys are obviously head over heels for each other, even if its taking you both a stupidly long time to admit it. All you ever do is go to work or talk to Stiles. Or both. And when you’re not talking _to_ him, you’re talking _about_ him.”

Derek can’t really argue with that.

“You wanted a real relationship? Well, you’ve got one, and fights are part of the package. Everything isn’t love letters and late-night confessions. There are going to be arguments, and apologies, and maybe someday there will even be awesome make-up sex that I will never, _ever_ hear anything about,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “But it’s not the end of the world. Tell him you’re sorry, it was your fault, that you love him, and let that be the end of it.”

“I don’t _love_ him, Laura,” Derek protests, shocked at how fast she jumps from apologies to affections.

Laura gives him a look. “Don’t you?”

Derek opens his mouth to reply, but now that he’s really thinking about it, it’s hard to deny. He doesn’t exactly have the experience to back it up, but how else can he describe what he and Stiles have? The ache he feels whenever he wants to talk to Stiles but can’t, the joy of seeing Stiles’ face on the screen of his shitty laptop, the utter devastation of being out of sorts with one another for even just the past couple of days. They moved past ‘like’ awhile ago, and have been dancing around each other ever since. These past two days alone have shown him how important Stiles has become to him, and how much Derek’s life has changed just from the simple addition of Stiles.

He always wants Stiles; he wants to talk to him, and laugh with him, to tell him about his day. Derek tries so hard to manage on his own, and for what? Stiles makes his life so much better. Stiles, who is there for him not out of duty or sisterly love like Laura, but because _he wants Derek, too_.

It’s a sudden realization, and one that he hopes hasn’t come too late.

When Derek takes too long to reply, stuck in his silent ruminations, Laura flicks him on the nose and pushes past him. “It’s only eight o’clock in California,” she says over her shoulder. “Not too late for a heart-to-heart.”

Derek doesn’t even pretend to hesitate, rushing to his room and shutting the door a little too enthusiastically behind him. When he opens his laptop, he sees that Stiles is online and immediately initiates a Skype call, praying Stiles will answer.

He does.

Upon seeing Stiles’ face on the screen, Derek already feels better. These past two days of silence have been making him a little crazy, but looking at Stiles feels so right, Derek can’t help but sigh in relief. This long-distance thing has been enough so far, especially with the two of them beating around the bush when it comes to their true feelings, but Derek knows it’s not going to be enough for much longer. But first he has to make things right.

“I’m still mad at you,” Stiles greets, not looking quite as mad as Derek thinks he maybe should. “Scott told me I should ignore your calls.”

Derek smiles a little at the fact that Stiles chose to pass up that bit of advice. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because I know you well enough to know that the asshole who yelled at me the other night wasn’t the real you,” Stiles admits. “And I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening to you or I would have noticed that something was really wrong.”

“You aren’t the one who should be apologizing,” Derek says, feeling even more guilty that Stiles thinks he has any reason to be sorry for what happened.

“Look, Derek, I’m not going to force you to talk about what was wrong, but I’m more pissed about you not being honest about your anger than you taking your anger out on me.” Stiles pauses, and Derek’s gaze tracks the trail of his long fingers as Stiles drags them down his face. “I can handle you being angry. That’s fine, whatever. But I’m not there for your day-to-day life, and if you aren’t willing to share it with me then how can this even work?”

“I _want_ it to work, Stiles,” Derek says urgently. “And I’m sorry I took out my anger on you. It wasn’t you was I angry at, and it was wrong of me to twist your words the way I did.” And he means it. Right from the moment Stiles hung up on him, Derek wanted to fix things between them. He’d avoided calling Stiles right back because he was afraid of making it worse, but now it’s all he can do to keep from begging Stiles to forgive him.

“I hope you know I’m not doing this because I think of you as some perfect person, or whatever the hell it is you have in your head about my feelings,” Stiles says. “I’m with you because this feels right, and real, and you’re the first person I’ve genuinely cared about in years.”

“I care about you, too,” Derek blurts, unwilling to let Stiles think anything else. “So much. I can’t even...I don’t know how—”

Stiles chuckles and ducks his head at Derek’s fumbling. “Yeah, same here.”

Derek takes a breath, trying to sort through the confusing tangle of words in his head. He looks at Stiles, taking everything in: the soft brown of his eyes, the gentle upturn of his nose, the slightly overgrown haircut, the smattering of moles on his cheek, the hint of stubble on his chin that Derek didn’t even know he could grow. There’s _so much_ Derek doesn’t know about Stiles. But he wants to know all of it. And Stiles deserves to know about him, too.

“Look, the other night…”

“Derek,” Stiles interrupts. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” Derek says softly. “I know. But I want to tell you.”

Stiles nods and lets Derek continue.

Derek tells Stiles about his fight with Laura a few nights ago. He tells Stiles what he never could tell his sister. About the car hydroplaning off the road. The fear he felt when he woke up in a hospital bed surrounded by strangers. How he still dreams about the mangled faces and bodies of his family at night. The guilt that eats away at him for being the one who lived when none of the others survived. He tells Stiles about how hard it was to move to New York afterwards, to live in a city full of people moving on with their lives while his was falling apart.

Stiles just listens to it all, crying silently with Derek and letting him grieve. They sit in silence for a long while, nothing but quiet breaths between them and the melancholy companionship that comes from the loss of a loved one.

Afterwards, Derek sleeps peacefully for the first time in years.

***

Things change between him and Derek after that Skype call, and Stiles can’t quite ignore the small ache in his chest anymore. What used to be mostly casual conversations have now taken a turn for the serious. They’re not all that way, but his calls with Derek now include hesitant gazes and quiet confessions, as though they’re both waiting for the other to just take the leap.

This continues on for another month, until Stiles isn’t sure he can really hold back all the things he wants to say. He can see the unspoken words in Derek’s eyes, too. ‘Will we ever meet?’ and ‘I really want to kiss you’ and ‘I wish you were here’ are mantras that run through Stiles’ mind on an endless loop.

Stiles rolls his crosse back and forth in his hands, heart pounding as he races down the field to outrun Scott. Scott’s home to visit and it really couldn’t have come at a better time. Stiles could use a small brain break, to focus on something else for just an hour or two, and nothing accomplishes that like pummeling your friend in lacrosse.

Neither of them are very good, but it works for them. He can hear Scott’s labored breaths from behind him but doesn’t bother to slow down. Speed is his only advantage over Scott; his best friend might have the shittiest case of asthma ever, but he’s still able to tackle Stiles like a Mack truck. Which he demonstrates rather quickly when Stiles stumbles a little and Scott takes advantage of the falter to rush him.

“You could’ve been a pretty good linebacker,” Stiles gasps from his place on the ground, tossing his crosse aside in defeat.

They sprawl out in the grass for a few minutes, spread-eagled as they catch their breath. It’s nice having Scott home for the weekend. They don’t get to see each other as much as they used to, and the change is bittersweet. He still sometimes finds himself getting ready to head over to Scott’s, only to remember he’s not there anymore. Old habits die hard.

“Nah,” Scott argues. He pulls up chunks of grass, making a small pile of the broken stems by his hip. “I’d have to gain another fifty pounds. Not worth it.”

“Food is always worth it,” Stiles hums happily, hands laced behind his head as images of greasy food dance through his mind.

“Let me rephrase,” Scott says. “Fifty pounds of _muscle_. Not just eating my weight in junk food.”

Stiles laughs, sitting up. “Wouldn’t work anyway. We’ve been doing that for years. No dice.”

“True,” Scott says. He turns his head to look over at Stiles. “Mom invited you guys over for dinner.”

“I know,” Stiles snorts. “Remind me not to gag when they kiss. I still have a handprint on the back of my head from the last time I made fun of them.”

If the look Stiles gets is anything to go by, Scott clearly has no sympathy for him. “You probably deserved it. I’m glad mom’s got someone to check up on her when I’m not there though. Your dad’s a cool dude.”

Stiles hums in agreement. It _is_ nice that Scott’s mom got together with his dad. He can tell his dad is happy more often than not nowadays, and he’s not blind enough to believe it’s just from the pleasure of Stiles’ company. Stiles doesn’t begrudge his dad for finding love again, especially with someone as nice as Mrs McCall. And it takes some of the weight of taking care of his dad off his shoulders. Peace of mind, and all that jazz.

He’s pulled from his ruminations when Scott prods his stomach with the shaft of his crosse.

“Wanna go again?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Nah, I’m beat.”

“Video games?” Scott asks with a grin.

“Video games,” Stiles agrees.

By the time they get back to Scott’s, have played a few rounds of Mario Kart (in which Stiles shamelessly beats Scott in retaliation for earlier), and have both taken quick showers—Scott’s mom would murder them if they tried to sit at the table covered in dirt and grass stains—they’re being called down for dinner. It feels a bit like old times as they race down the stairs, shoving each other into the railing to try and get there first.

“ _Boys_ ,” his dad scolds while they fight over a chair. Stiles can tell the reprimand is directed at him though, so he elbows Scott in the gut before relinquishing the seat and moving to the other side of the table.

They’re just digging into their meals when Stiles’ text tone goes off in his pocket. His dad’s usually pretty firm about not having phones out at the table, so Stiles ignores it, but Scott apparently didn’t get that memo.

“Is that Derek?” Scott asks with a grin.

“Who’s Derek?” Mrs. McCall asks.

“His lover, mom, duh.” Scott is officially not his friend anymore.

“Remember, I told you about that boy he’s been dating?” his dad says before Stiles can defend himself, nudging her arm. “The pen pal guy.”

Stiles really just wants to dig himself a hole and crawl into it right now. “Dad, can we _not_?” Stiles pleads.

“You’re totally blushing, dude,” Scott says, waggling his eyebrows and laughing at Stiles’ embarrassment.

“Scott, leave him alone,” Mrs. McCall chides and adds another serving to Scott’s plate. “Eat your peas.” She turns to Stiles, putting her hand on his arm. “I think it’s great that you have a boyfriend, Stiles.”

“Cool, so how about we talk about something that doesn’t involve my personal life,” Stiles suggests, shoving a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“Seems to me like they’re getting pretty serious, considering how often he’s on his phone,” his dad adds, and Stiles loses all hope of a relaxing dinner. “I think I’d like to meet this guy.”

“You and me both,” Stiles mutters.

“Hey, I wanna meet him, too!” Scott chimes in. Stiles flicks some of his peas at Scott’s head.

Since he’s clearly being ignored, Stiles pulls out his phone—which actually does have a text from Derek, asking what Stiles is doing—and sends Derek an _S.O.S._ while everyone else continues to discuss his relationship status.

_> You okay?_

_< Other than being humiliated at the dinner table? Just dandy._

_> Ha, I’m sure you’ll manage._

_< Laugh it up, jerk._

_> I get plenty of beef from Laura too, trust me._

_< We’re actually eating chicken, thank you very much._

_> Hilarious._

_< My humor is lost on this world._

_> I like your humor._

_< I like you._

_> Cute._

_< I thought so._

“What are you smiling about, son?” his dad asks.

When Stiles looks up, he sees that everyone has stopped talking and is watching him with shit-eating grins. Stiles sighs dramatically, giving up.

“Derek,” he admits to their glee.

_< I think I just made it worse._

***

“Hey, Stiles!”

Stiles was definitely not expecting a female voice to answer when he called Derek’s phone. “Uh...Laura? I was just calling to talk to Derek.”

“He’s in the shower,” she informs him. “Wanna leave a message?”

“I can just call back later,” Stiles says. He’d really only called because he was bored, and spinning endlessly in his desk chair was both tiresome and vomit-inducing.

“Okay. Hey, this is probably a good time to give you my obligatory big sister talk.”

Stiles laughs, stilling his desk chair and leaning back until the room stops spinning. “What, like, the whole ‘break his heart and I’ll break your face’ spiel?”

Laura hums thoughtfully. “No, I’m more of a ‘take care of him or I’ll take care of you’ kinda gal.”

“Somehow that’s even more ominous.” Laura may seem fun and nice, but she’s got a mean streak a mile long if Derek’s to be believed.

Stiles believes him.

“I’m not above homicide,” she replies. “Elliot’s in law, I’m sure he could find a loophole for me.”

“That’s not really how it works.”

“Semantics.”

Stiles leans his elbows on his desk. “Derek was right, you _are_ devious.”

“Aw, he said that about me?” she coos.

“Just don’t forget my dad’s the sheriff,” Stiles feels compelled to add.

“Laura?” Stiles hears Derek’s muffled voice over the line. “Why are you on my phone?”

“Just chatting with Stiles,” she says. “Don’t get all huffy.”

Stiles laughs. That’s probably _exactly_ what Derek is doing.

“Laura!” There’s a lot of static as they scuffle over control of the phone, and Stiles laughs while he waits.

“Nice talk!” Laura yells, which Stiles assumes to mean Derek won. There’s a sigh before, “Stiles?”

“Hey, hot stuff. Your sister is scary.”

“I’ve been telling you that for months,” Dereks says. Stiles hears a door close and then the creak of Derek’s bed. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Stiles sighs. “Dad’s working a double, I ran out of junk food, and I don’t even have any work to do because my last final isn’t until the end of the week.”

“Sounds _so_ hard,” Derek teases.

“Shutup. What are _you_ doing?”

“I was gonna go through some commissions for the new year and figure out where I’ll be going. Want to hear some of them?”

Stiles smiles, interest piqued. “Definitely.”

***

“Check it out!” Stiles says, swinging his honor cords playfully like a burlesque dancer. “Magna cum laude, baby! I even got a hood and everything.” Stiles wraps the aforementioned hood around his neck and then makes dramatic gagging noises as the weight of the hood chokes him.

“You’re supposed to attach it to the button in front so it doesn’t do that,” Derek informs him, chuckling. They’re Skyping one another for a few minutes while Stiles gets ready for graduation. It’s hard to believe he’s graduating college already. He doesn’t _feel_ like an adult, that’s for sure. Suddenly twenty-two is the new eighteen and Stiles is completely unprepared for this next step in his life.

“How would you even _know_ that?” Stiles asks. He finds the button tucked into his robe and sheepishly hooks his hood onto it. The fabric of the hood is still twisted and he wrestles with it until it lays properly over his shoulders.

“I _did_ go to college, you know,” Derek says.

“What? College? I did _not_ know! That is not a thing that I knew!” Stiles exclaims, pausing in his adjustments to look over at Derek’s face on the screen.

“Did you think I just magically learned everything I know?”

“You’re cute when you’re being sassy.” Stiles sends him an exaggerated wink.

Derek ducks his head, blushing. “Shutup.”

“My dad’s gonna videotape the ceremony,” Stiles says, changing the subject. “So I can send you a copy of it next week, if you want.”

“I’d like that,” Derek replies. His face grows fond and he adds, “I’m really happy for you, Stiles.”

“Yeah, okay, enough with the mush,” Stiles replies, now fighting a blush of his own. “I have overactive tear ducts, you’re gonna make me ruin my makeup.”

“You’re not wearing any makeup.”

“I could be!”

Derek smiles. “Go put some real clothes on under that or you won’t have time for your surprise.”

“ _Fine_. I still can’t believe dad won’t tell me what it is.”

“That is the complete opposite of a surprise, Stiles. Are you sure you’re graduating _college_?” Derek jokes.

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Stiles says, shooting him a dry look. “I’ll talk to you later, Derek.”

“Good luck. Break a leg!”

Derek ends the Skype call before Stiles can argue that you don’t wish someone to break a leg unless they’re acting, and _great_ , now he’s gonna break his leg and what hope does he have of getting across the stage with those kinds of odds? His dad walks in just as Stiles is beginning to freak out about the many calamities that could potentially befall him during his ten seconds on the stage.

“Stiles, chill out.”

“You won’t be telling me to chill out when I’m catching falling beams from the ceiling,” Stiles argues, pulling on his socks.

“Your graduation is _outside_ , Chicken Little,” his dad says, chuckling.

“Not helping! Chicken Little gets eaten at the end of that story!” Stiles can feel his breath growing thinner and lets his dad guide him over to the bed and put his head between his knees. He doesn’t know why he’s freaking out about graduation _now_ , when it’s been creeping up on him for months.

“Breathe, Stiles,” his dad coaches, rubbing his back soothingly. “Let’s leave saving the world to the superheroes, okay? You don’t wanna put Batman out of a job.”

Stiles laughs weakly. “Yeah, okay.”

“You know, your mom would’ve been so proud of everything you’ve accomplished, son.”

Stiles looks up to meet his dad’s eyes, both of their gazes damp with unshed tears. “You think?”

“I know.” He wraps Stiles up in a tight embrace and they stay like that for a few minutes, clinging to one another and just resting in the comfort of each other. It’s a bit longer before his dad pulls back and nudges Stiles towards the bathroom. “Go clean up. You’ve got a big day ahead of you.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes.

He hops up and goes to wash his face, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He’s about to graduate _college_. This afternoon he’ll be handed an empty degree folder that he’s worked four and a half years for. It’s all a bit surreal. After another mini pep talk, Stiles takes a deep breath, grabs his assorted graduation gear from his bedroom, then heads downstairs to get his nice shoes. He’d wanted to wear pajama pants and slippers under his robe, but after a lengthy lecture at graduation practice about the proper attire he figures he might as well break out his old dress pants. As it is, the pajama pants might still look nicer; his slacks are a couple inches too short.

He ties his laces into triple knots—there are enough cosmic forces working against him; he doesn’t need to trip over untied laces, too—then heads into the kitchen where his dad is waiting with a disposable camera to take his picture.

“ _Dad_ ,” Stiles complains as he hears a click. He raises his brows while his dad winds up the film for the next shot. “Seriously? I’m not even finished dressing. Besides, my cell phone takes better pictures than that thing.” There’s another click while Stiles is mid-sentence and he can’t help but roll his eyes.

“What do you want for your graduation gift?” his dad asks.

“We’ve been over this,” Stiles replies. “I don’t need anything.” He brushes past his dad to grab the maroon button-down he’d started ironing this morning. Holding it up, he can see that he really only got about halfway done ironing the wrinkles out, but it’s gonna be under his robe anyway so he doesn’t bother to finish before sliding it on. It’s an older shirt, too, since he hardly has a reason to dress up for anything, which means that it actually fits instead of being baggy like most of his shirts.

“But if you could have _any_ thing,” his dad cajoles, snapping another photo. “Anything, right now. What would you want?”

Stiles pretends to think about it. “A bucket of curly fries.”

His dad chuckles and hands him his graduation robe. “Anything else?”

“I thought you already had a surprise for me?” He shrugs on his robe and zips it up, then adds the cords and hood back around his neck.

“That’s different.”

“Different how?” Stiles asks suspiciously. His dad has been surprisingly stealthy the past couple of weeks, ever since he mentioned Stiles’ graduation surprise. Normally his dad isn’t so great at hiding the evidence—Stiles almost _always_ knows what his Christmas presents are before he opens them—but this time is different. Stiles hasn’t found a single clue as to what it might be. He hopes he isn’t losing his mojo.

“Just finish getting dressed so I can take your picture,” his dad says.

Stiles rolls his eyes again and goes to get his mortar board from the living room. It takes him a few minutes to find his tassel, and he finally locates it stuck between two couch cushions. Shoving the cap onto his head he pops back into the kitchen with a manic smile. “Ready!”

“Just _one_ second…” his dad is fiddling with the disposable camera, which already seems to have malfunctioned.

“Dad, come on, Scott will be here any minute now.”

“Hold your horses,” his dad says. Then adds, “Besides, that boy’s never been on time to anything in his life. Reminds me of someone I know...”

“Yes, you’re hilarious. Wonderful. Can you just use my phone?”

“I’ve already got those other pictures on this one,” his dad argues.

“I’m sure nobody will miss those,” Stiles says. There’s a knock on the front door and Stiles hisses, “See? I told you.” He raises his voice to shout, “We’re in the kitchen, Scotty!”

“Got it!” Stiles’ dad holds up the camera triumphantly. He has Stiles stand by the back door where every significant photo from Stiles’ childhood has taken place. Stiles only smiles for two clicks before ditching the photoshoot to greet Scott, who walks in grinning from ear to ear.

“Dude!” Scott cries cheerfully, hugging Stiles and then giving him a high five. “We’re about to both be college graduates!”

He has to admit, it was weird not graduating at the same time as Scott, but tacking on his minors last year had added an extra semester of college for him. He doesn't mind too much, though. Everything worked out in the end, and at least the commencement ceremony will be shorter since it’s a winter graduation.

“I’m not if we don’t get a move on,” Stiles jokes. “Come on, dad. We’ll be in the Jeep!” He and Scott head back through the house but only make it to the front door before Stiles hears his name being called again.

“ _Dad_.”

“Let me get a picture of you two first.” His dad is already messing with the camera again because the film apparently won’t wind. “Melissa will kill me if I don’t get at least one.”

“Your dad’s using a disposable camera,” Scott says in a stage whisper.

“I _know_ , right?”

“You know, you two could help me out instead of standing around.”

Stiles laughs and hooks his arm around Scott’s shoulder. “But this is so much more fun! I didn’t know I’d be graduating college in the dark ages, with dial-up and walkmans and _disposable cameras_ ,” he teases.

“I thought you said teasing people about their disposable cameras was bad form?”

“Well, tech—” Stiles cuts off abruptly when he realizes his dad isn’t the one who spoke and whips around. “ _Derek_?”

Derek is standing in the open doorway, looking so nice in a forest green dress shirt and dark wash jeans. The shirt is open at the collar and the sleeves are rolled up on his forearms and Stiles can’t stop staring. When his eyes move upwards, he sees that Derek is checking him out, too. Derek holds his arms out by his sides. “Surprise?”

Stiles is frozen in place, unsure of what to do with Derek. He’s really _here_ , standing right in front of him. His hair is parted slightly on the side, his scruff trimmed close to his face just as Stiles has seen frequently on their Skype calls, only now he can see it all firsthand.

“But...how did—you—we just? Holy shit.”

“You’ve made Stiles speechless,” his dad remarks. “Welcome to the family.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Stilinski,” Derek says, breaking eye contact with Stiles to look past his shoulder at his dad.

“Same,” his dad says. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a better camera lying around, would you?”

Derek holds up a digital camera he’s got hanging from his shoulder that Stiles hadn’t even noticed until just now. Derek waves the camera a little in the air with a smirk. “Got you covered, sir.”

“What—this was—” Stiles splutters, as he realizes his dad’s malfunctioning camera had all been for show. He points a finger at his dad. “You tricked me!”

“Not bad for an old cop, eh?”

“And _you_!” Stiles rounds on Derek, who is still smirking in the doorway. “I talked to you on Skype, like, ten minutes ago! You were in your _bedroom_! In _New York_!”

“Obviously not.”

“But _how_?” Stiles asks.

“That’s really what you’re focusing on right now?” Derek replies with a smile.

“I’m trying my best not to jump you while my dad’s still in the room,” Stiles half jokes, smiling back. “Work with me here.”

“Aaaand, that’s my cue,” Scott says, slipping out the front door. Stiles’ dad claps him and Derek on the shoulder before following suit.

They’re still grinning at each other once they’re alone.

“I see you got your hood figured out,” Derek says, gesturing at Stiles’ graduation attire.

“You must think you’re really sneaky, being my surprise and all,” Stiles replies, ignoring Derek’s comment. He takes a step closer and Derek matches it.

“Like what you see?”

Stiles nods, suddenly nervous as Derek takes another step forward. They’re face to face now, close enough that Stiles can smell the cologne Derek is wearing and see the flecks of hazel in his green eyes, and it’s all so very _real_. He reaches out hesitantly, his hand brushing lightly down Derek’s forearm, almost to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. Derek lets him, his eyes tracking Stiles’ face as they move closer.

“You’re really here,” Stiles says.

Derek seems to take that as an invitation and lurches forward, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ shoulders and burying his face in Stiles’ neck. Stiles relaxes, his arms going around Derek’s waist, squeezing tightly. All of the tension from moments ago bleeds away and Stiles can’t help but press in closer, reveling in the fact that Derek’s actually in his arms.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for ages,” Derek mumbles, his scruff tickling Stiles’ skin as he talks.

“Me, too.”

They stay that way for a few more moments, just enjoying the feel of one another, before pulling away. Derek takes a small step back but leaves one of his hands behind Stiles’ neck, cradling the back of his head. The intensity of Derek’s gaze feels like it’s searing through Stiles’ skin, and he suddenly wishes he knew what Derek was thinking.

“I really want to kiss you,” Stiles blurts, breaking the silence, “but I’m pretty sure dad and Scott are watching us from the car.”

Derek glances over his shoulder to confirm Stiles’ assumption, then turns back with a heated gaze. “Then let’s give them something to look at, shall we?”

Stiles’ frantic nod is cut off when Derek leans forward to press their lips together. It starts as a gentle pressure, light and soft, but Stiles hasn’t waited for this moment for almost a year only to get a _peck_. He kisses back with enthusiasm, his flailing limbs and inexperience coming together in an imperfectly wonderful kiss. He can feel Derek grin against his mouth as hands come up to hold his face, directing him onto a smoother course. Derek’s thumb caresses his cheekbone and the motion feels so intimate, it makes Stiles’ heart pound faster. He grabs Derek’s hips for balance, gasping softly when he feels Derek’s tongue brushing against his lip.

Stiles tries to move even closer, all hesitancy gone, and meets Derek’s tongue with his own. It’s hard to kiss properly when both of them are fighting smiles, but they give it a solid effort. And even so, Stiles is still short of breath when they finally pull away a little while later. He has to take a moment to remember that he’s standing in an open doorway on display for the entire neighborhood. He can’t tell whether the thudding sound in his ears is his own heartbeat or Derek’s, but decides it doesn’t matter either way. Derek is _here_. And they are _kissing_.

Best. Surprise. Ever.

Then there are lips at his ear, hot breath making Stiles’ legs feel shaky. He sags against Derek a little, pressing his face into the soft fabric of Derek’s shirt.

“How was that?” Derek whispers.

Stiles just smiles and presses a kiss to Derek’s neck, gathering him closer.

At least if the sky starts falling, Stiles will die happy.

***

_Two months later_

“You know,” Stiles wheezes, “whenever you mention all those _spectacular views_ and flowery shit about traveling, you tend to leave out the part where you traumatize your boyfriend with _extreme mountain climbing_.”

Derek laughs, reaching out a hand from the boulder above Stiles to give him a hand up. “It’s not much further.”

“Easy for you to say,” Stiles grumbles. He scrambles up gracelessly behind Derek, trying to ignore the tickling drops of sweat he can feel traveling down his back. They’ve been in Morocco for almost a week now and even though the weather is mild Stiles still isn’t accustomed to the humidity.

All in all, though, the trip has been pretty amazing. It’s kind of a belated Christmas/graduation present and Stiles couldn’t be happier. Now he gets to experience some of the things that Derek does all the time. Derek has taken him all over, showing Stiles things he’d never even dreamt of before. They’ve gone walking through the cities, exploring the wares being sold in the souks—he learned how to tie a turban on his head!—and meeting the locals. Derek didn’t even complain when Stiles dragged him into a pick-up game of soccer with some of the kids playing in the street, though he _did_ make fun of Stiles when they got their asses handed to them. He’s shown Stiles how to eat couscous with his hand (“Dude, no utensils? This is like a childhood dream come true!”) and the way a meal is a collective event here. They even take time to go further north and check out Volubilis, an excavated Roman city, and some of the landscapes and waterfalls that Morocco has to offer.

They’re currently climbing to the top of what Stiles had thought was one of the less-intimidating bluffs.

“I distinctly remember _someone_ saying they wanted to climb up to the outcrop that looked like Pride Rock,” Derek quips.

“That’s when you say, ‘Stiles, you’ll hate yourself before you get even halfway there,’ like you’re supposed to when I get grandiose ideas while exploring.” Stiles takes the opportunity to pinch Derek’s ass, satisfied when he gets a grumpy look in return. Serves him right.

“At which point you would’ve done it anyway, just to spite me.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, even though it’s true.

“Come on,” Derek says. He grabs Stiles’ hand again, but this time doesn’t let go, lacing their fingers together and squeezing once before leading him further up the incline. It’s nice, having a moment alone to just be close with Derek. They’ve been keeping it pretty low-key during the trip, no excessive PDA or anything, so he’s enjoying the free moments now to touch whenever he wants.

Derek’s hands are strong, and Stiles has formed a new appreciation for what Derek does, usually while carting along a bunch of camera gear. Stiles loves that Derek is so in shape, and his pulse races when he thinks about Derek’s body in other contexts. He can think about Derek however he wants now. The things they want to do together, the places they want to go—those don’t have to be hypothetical anymore. They can happen.

They _are_ happening.

***

When they reach their destination, they both stop and just _breathe_. Exercise has never been one of Stiles’ top priorities, Derek has listened to him complain about it on multiple occasions, so he gives Stiles time to lay out in the sun for a bit while he explores the rock faces around the top.

After they’ve been up there for about half an hour, he hears Stiles call out his name and wanders back over to cliff edge. Stiles is standing there admiring the view, and Derek pauses to admire it as well, though he only has eyes for Stiles.

Stiles tips his head back, letting warm rays of the late-afternoon sun warm his face. Derek takes pleasure in it, tracking his eyes down the long line of Stiles’ neck, the muscles of his back, and lower, to the way his shorts frame his ass so nicely. Wanting to touch, Derek approaches from behind, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ abdomen and pulling them into an embrace. He presses a kiss to Stiles’ temple, then moves on to behind his ear and down his neck, Derek’s arms tightening to hold Stiles in place when he starts to squirm.

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles complains. “I’m all sweaty and gross.”

Derek runs his nose up along Stiles’ hairline. He bites Stiles’ earlobe gently and then whispers, “I think you look hot.”

“Sunburnt, maybe,” Stiles replies, no longer trying to get away.

“No,” Derek says, hands sliding down to Stiles’ hips. “Definitely hot.”

Stiles’ eyes slide closed and he bites his lip as one of Derek’s hands moves under his shirt, stroking the warm skin underneath. The temperature outside seems to rise a few degrees and Derek lets Stiles turns his head so he can meet Stiles’ lips with his own. Stiles curls his hand around Derek’s neck to pull him closer.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” Stiles mumbles against his lips. “For a tour guide.”

“Tour guide, my _ass_ ,” Derek says, nipping at Stiles’ mouth.

“Testy.” Stiles grins. “Are you waiting for an invitation?”

Derek feels the ghost of a laugh on his lips, but the sound is lost before it can fully form, captured in the pressure of Stiles’ mouth on his own. The kiss is gentle: the soft brush of lips, the warmth of Stiles’ stomach where his hand rests, the threading of Stiles’ fingers through Derek’s hair. The sweetness of it rocks Derek to the core.

Derek draws back slowly, pressing lingering kisses against Stiles’ lips, not wanting to stop. “Testy enough for you?” he asks breathlessly.

Stiles laughs. Derek opens his eyes, and the scenery is once again lost on him because he can’t look away from Stiles. He could get used to this view. To cheesy smiles with hints of a dimple, to bright eyes and laugh lines, to kisses and jokes and endless travel. And he has all the time in the world to enjoy it.

“So,” Stiles says once they’ve looked their fill. “I have something to tell you.”

“Tell me?” Derek repeats, caught off guard.

Stiles suddenly looks nervous, and Derek turns him so they’re facing each other, lacing his fingers with Stiles’.

“You gonna share?” Derek teases, brushing their noses together.

“Remember when I mentioned I was looking into internship positions?”

“Yeah...” Derek says. They’ve talked about it a few times when Derek’s asked what Stiles plans to do now that he’s graduated, but Stiles has always been pretty vague about the details.

“Well, I accepted a position with a museum last week,” Stiles says, not meeting Derek’s eyes.

Derek’s heart races. Stiles already found a job? Is he going somewhere else? Is that what this is about? Derek can’t think with all of the questions suddenly running through his head, so he just asks, “Where?”

“I’d be a cataloguer, assisting one of the curators at the museum,” Stiles continues quickly. “It’s not super exciting or anything, but I could work up to something better. And the curator I’d be working under is really nice; I talked to her, and she gave me all this advice about looking into graduate programs and learning more about—”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek interrupts before Stiles can manage a verbal meltdown. He tips up Stiles’ chin until their eyes meet. “Where is it?”

“New York,” Stiles breathes out. “It’s in New York.”

Derek laughs, hardly daring to believe it. “Really?”

Stiles nods, his smile blinding. “I didn’t want to mention anything until I was sure. I start in three weeks.”

Derek pulls him into a crushing hug, unable to put his emotions into words. He can’t believe this is really happening. Stiles has a job in New York. Stiles is _moving_ to New York!

“Where will you live?” Derek asks, pulling away slightly so he can see Stiles’ face. He keeps his hands laced behind Stiles’ back, unable to let him go completely.

“Well,” Stiles says slowly, “I was hoping we could figure that out. Together.”

“Is that you asking me to live with you?” Derek asks.

“Yes. No,” Stiles amends. He shakes his head. “Well, kind of? I don’t know. Isn’t it a little fast?”

“You’re right,” Derek nods, his face serious. “I mean, it’s not like we know each other _at all_. You’d be better off paying some insane rent price in the city while you search for a roommate, who will probably turn out to be a freak that stays up ‘til weird hours and doesn’t wash his clothes. We could even be inner-city pen pals! You already have my address.”

Stiles smiles, punching Derek on the shoulder. “Be serious!”

“I _am_ ,” Derek laughs. “It’s kind of fast, yeah, but it makes sense, considering the alternatives. Besides, we’ve been doing things our own way from the start. What’s one more leap?”

“What about Laura?” Stiles asks.

“She’s been trying to kick me out for years,” Derek says. “I don’t think she’ll mind.” He moves closer, cupping Stiles’ face in his hands. “Besides, I plan to keep you around for awhile.”

“Yeah?”

Derek smiles and nods, pressing kisses all over Stiles’ face and laughing when Stiles begins to squirm again. “Say yes,” he says, not letting go. He can’t hide his excitement over Stiles moving to New York. He loves the idea of being able to see Stiles every day, in person, whenever he wants.

“Alright!” Stiles finally submits, laughing and capturing Derek’s face to hold him still. “Yes. We can look for a place when we get back.” Stiles pulls him forward and holds Derek tightly against his chest. They just stand there holding each other, and it’s seriously the best part of his day so far.

“I love you,” Derek says, unable to hold back the words any longer. They’ve been burning on his tongue for weeks, months even, and he can’t think of a single reason to keep them silent anymore.

Derek can feel Stiles smile against his neck before Stiles whispers, “I love you, too.”

Somewhere in between the letters and the phone calls and getting to know this beautiful man, Derek fell in love with him. And he can’t think of any place he’d rather be in the world than right here in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://miss-emrys.tumblr.com/)!


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